


Mindgames

by IreneClaire, KomodoQueen, Swifters



Series: Devil's Games [3]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugged Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Danny, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Protective Steve McGarrett, Psychological Torture, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Triggers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:31:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 36
Words: 125,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneClaire/pseuds/IreneClaire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KomodoQueen/pseuds/KomodoQueen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swifters/pseuds/Swifters
Summary: Spenser McCann is back and this time he's set his sights on Danny.An AU version of 'Endgame', the previous story in the series. Many warnings apply...Story by IC and Swifters, using extracts from 'Endgame' by IC and KQ in the first few chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Endgame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5093036) by [IreneClaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneClaire/pseuds/IreneClaire), [KomodoQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KomodoQueen/pseuds/KomodoQueen). 



> Mind Games is an AU version of Endgame in which the bad guys are a whole lot less restrained. The story begins the same, but the plots begin to diverge from there. 
> 
> Disclaimer- This is awful, horrible whump. Non-con and nasty. But we have tried to avoid crossing the line to gratuitous- it’s all for the plot. Still, DO NOT READ if you are of a sensitive disposition.
> 
> We do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.  
> See below for Authors Notes.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

_"I can't do it anymore. I thought I could, but I just can't …”_

"Don't even go there. You're stronger than that. After everything you've been through – everything you've lived through …”

_"It's too much, buddy … I'm sorry … so, so sorry …”_

"You stop that right now. I'm on my way to you right now. Don't you do anything 'til I get there, you hear me? I got you and I'm coming, right now …”

A choked off sob, followed by an eerie silence over the line had the man willing the car faster, foot pressed so hard against the pedal his muscles burned.

"Talk to me, buddy … I'm almost there … I'm pulling into your street right now …”

The barely audible _"I'm sorry"_ was the last thing he heard before the line went dead.

"No, no, no … God _dammit_!"

The car was still rocking into park as the blonde leapt from the vehicle, the smell of tire rubber and brake pads assaulting his senses as he sprinted for the house. A single shot rang out as he reached the entrance and he paused just long enough to draw his own weapon, dread already swirling in the pit of his stomach. With a sharp kick, he took the door – a move of which his partner would have been proud … especially seeing as he hadn't even tried the lock.

"Steve … STEVEN!" Weapon up, he headed into the house. An empty bottle of whiskey lay in the midst of old photographs. Heading further into the house, he stopped at the entrance to the study. The entire room looked trashed. Paperwork and files strewn across the floor; the contents of the desk littered amongst the chaos … and there, in the corner, was his partner.

Propped against the wall, arms flaccid by his side … gun laid on the floor by his right hand.  _Jesus, McGarrett. What the fuck did you do?_   For a brief moment, he froze in complete and utter shock and horror, too stunned to step any farther into the room. The sight of the pale, lax face of his partner and the steady spread of crimson across his abdomen catching his breath and his heart and squeezing it like a vise … his abdomen … why the hell would he shoot himself in the gut … unless …

"It's too much, buddy … I'm soooo sorry.”

Danny whirled in place in the doorway at the sound of his partner's voice.

"Amazing, what one can do with modern technology, don't you think?” The shadowed man held a small device to his mouth as he spoke, the voice distorting to sound exactly like his partner. Danny moved to raise his gun, but stopped at the sound of a weapon cocking behind him. The man wasn’t alone.

"Uh uh, Detective … put the gun down or my man will shoot you both, and your beloved partner definitely won't have any chance of survival.” The mysterious figure took a step closer, into the light.

“You… no." Danny shook his head slowly in complete denial at who he was seeing.

The intruder lowered his hand and spoke again, revealing his true voice. "Surprised to see me, Danno?” he drawled. “You didn't think I'd give up that easily, did you?"

Spenser McCann smirked wickedly. "Now come," he indicated with a small tip of his head. "We have lots to discuss.”

_**~ to be continued ~** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Swifters- Feeling somewhat self-conscious at the number of non-cons I’ve written now… However, I am not a deviant (IC, stop laughing, I’m really not!). Without saying too much, I had a role for a number of years that involved dealing with victims of sexual assault so I have seen first-hand the affects it can have. I guess it preys on my mind. For me writing about it is about acknowledging the depths to which humans will stoop in the way they treat each other- there is no more degrading, humiliating thing one person can decide they are entitled to do to another- and at the same time recognizing the strength their victims find inside to survive. So there.


	2. Chapter 2

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny took in the bare facts of his situation in an instant, cop instincts on auto-pilot. No fewer than five armed men had revealed themselves, materializing out of the shadows of Steve’s darkened house like freaking ninjas and fanning out to surround him.

His odds of fighting his way out, for all his own gun was drawn and part-raised, were precisely zero. And Steve… his partner, his best friend, was gravely wounded, slumped against the wall, breathing labored, eyes closed, and the crimson pool of blood ever-widening below him. _Fuck_! Danny wanted nothing more than to run to him, to call paramedics, to try to save him… but he couldn’t. They were seriously screwed. 

Danny gripped his gun tight, raising his eyes to meet those of the man who had haunted his nightmares for so long after their last, brief, encounter. The man who had got into his head like no one before or since. His roiling stomach clenched tight. 

"I had hoped you'd live," Spenser McCann's tone did little to soothe Danny. "I was pleased when my informants shared the very happy news. You're tenacious to the best of all faults. But, you look … thinner … gaunt, though. Is it your bad arm? I do seem to recall that it was giving you some trouble the last time we saw each other."

The alien feeling of being tongue-tied overcame Danny. He simply didn’t know what to say as McCann stood there, feet away, studying him from head to toe like he was an interesting specimen, a rare find, a piece of prime meat. He was in shock- it was like seeing a ghost and his mind was vehemently denying what his eyes were telling him. The twisted, dangerous man in front of him quite simply shouldn’t be there… As far as Danny knew, the intelligence agencies had pegged him last in Dubai; certainly nowhere near the shores of Hawaii.

McCann seemed unperturbed by Danny’s momentary silence. He turned away and began to pace the floor slowly. "I am sincerely glad that you lived, Danno. But this McGarrett?” -he paused, pointing with an expression of distain at Steve’s crumpled body- “Your Commander is quite … resilient. My sources say that young Kalakaua managed to get him to safety. He certainly should have been dead before… but these things have a way of catching back up with people, right?” 

Danny’s mind was doing battle with itself, barely taking in McCann’s words, just attempting to take in the impossible sight before him… whilst screaming at him to help Steve, now! His thoughts were racing, counting seconds as his partner, the most important person in his world bar his kids, bled mere feet away from him. He needed medical help. Now.

"H-He needs help… let me help him.” Danny finally found his voice, choking the words out without any real hope of being heeded.

McCann smiled a twisted smile and shook his head slowly.

Shock gave way to rising panic as it finally, belatedly, dawned on Danny’s stunned mind what McCann had achieved… he had them both exactly where he wanted them. He was calling all the shots. Danny had no cards to play.

A chill spread up Danny’s spine. “W-what do you want?” he croaked.

"I think you already know the answer to that, Danno,” Spenser answered with a smug, self-satisfied smile. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Couldn’t get you out of my head in fact. And I’m not one to deny myself pleasure for no good reason. So how about it, my boy. Have you missed me too?” His eyes raked up and down Danny’s body once more, gaze heavy with lewd intent.

Danny hauled in a shaky breath, forcibly suppressing the sick fear that threatened to encompass him. He shook his head. “F-fuck you, McCann.” He half turned and jabbed a pointed finger towards the slumped figure of Steve McGarrett. “Y-you let me help him,” he spat, growling out the words with a sudden rush of venom, “So help me, if he dies…”

Spenser lifted one side of his mouth into a pleased grin, seemingly entertained to see Danny refusing to crumble with fear, refusing to submit willingly in the face of impossible odds.

"It's really very simple, I’m a fair man and I’m going to give you a chance to save him. It’s up to you entirely if you take it," said McCann. He resumed his lazy pacing for a moment, before sinking down into Steve’s favorite chair. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, self-confidence and arrogance oozing from every pore. He glanced down at the SEAL with disinterest then slowly turned his face back to Danny.

McCann waved a hand in the general direction of the closest of his men who stood watching, waiting for their commander's direction. "Clearly, Danno, you’re going nowhere without my say-so. Your choices are this; option one… we make ourselves comfortable and watch your buddy die.”

Danny took a step towards McCann at that, bristling with fury, but the sound of four guns being cocked simultaneously brought his movement to an immediate halt.

McCann raised his hand, wagging a finger to and fro. “Ah-ah. Behave. Now, option two… First, you'll hand your weapons over, along with your cell phone and badge," McCann said, his eyes narrowing. He leaned forward, eager and ruthless with his next limited compromise. "Secondly, 911 gets summoned for your partner here … but- and here’s the interesting bit- if and only if, you come with me willingly.” ”

Danny’s eyes widened. He tried to speak, automatically wanting to agree to the terms no matter what and worry about fighting his way out once Steve was safe… but for some reason the words just didn’t come out. 

McCann snorted, watching Danny with interest. “I’ll be upfront with you Danno. Here’s the deal.. Dylan and I, we’re here on business here right now. When I work, I work hard… and I play hard. And guess what… I want to play with _you_. You come with me right now, willingly, and with no questions asked. No fighting or arguing – no complaining. I really don't have the patience to deal with your mouthiness right now… Agree to that and I’ll call 911 for him. Do we have a deal?”

Danny found himself breathing hard, panting, the feeling of being utterly trapped growing by the second. There could be no doubts as to McCann’s intentions towards him. The dark feeling of dread that McCann had left him with after their last encounter materialized from nowhere and gripped him, blanketing him with suffocating fear at the concept of being under his control once more. Danny was already drenched in sweat and beginning to shake from both helpless rage and growing terror.

And yet he didn't have to ask what the outcome would be if he didn't agree to the terms. Spenser would still get his way. They would watch Steve die slowly, agonisingly, in front of them and then Spenser McCann would still force Danny to go with him.

McCann cleared his throat theatrically. “How about it Danny, time’s a ticking. His life is draining out of him. What do you say?”

Danny took a deep breath and glanced down at Steve. The briefest glimpse of his partner’s unnaturally pale, lifeless body instantly eclipsed the unfamiliar selfish concerns for his own well-being that McCann had caused. That only McCann could cause. All that mattered was getting help for Steve.

"Okay," Danny whispered, now adamantly and deliberately refusing to let himself think about what it was he was agreeing to, beyond winning that help for his stricken partner. He could worry about himself after, worry about escape after.

Fingers trembling, he thumbed the safety on his weapon, released the clip, and handed both to McCann's nearest man. His cell phone and badge followed next, falling in a tidy pile into the black-gloved hand.

"Phone?" Danny asked, a nervous nod towards Steve as his hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. With every fiber of his being, Danny wanted to go to him, but he didn't dare move. As for making a call to 911, they'd taken his own cell, so what was he supposed to do?

“G-give me a phone. Give me a phone.” Danny said, his heart thudding so loudly in his ears that he was sure McCann could also hear it. And if he didn't hear it, the leader could certainly sense it as Danny's complexion paled and he wondered if this was already the start of a frightening lie.

Spenser smiled coyly. "What? You don't trust one of us to do it?"

"Why the hell would I trust any one of you?!!" Danny snorted, fear and fury only rising yet further as a quiet moan of pain from Steve reached his ears, punctuating his need to safeguard McCann’s side of the hideous deal. "I'll go with you, but I make the call. So ... like I said, give me a phone." Danny stuck out his chin, nostrils flaring, determined to stand this one bit of ground.

Danny’s defiant words had an instant affect. McCann’s face froze, suddenly cold and expressionless. Eyes fixed on Danny’s, he got slowly to his feet and took two steps closer, muscular frame towering intimidatingly over the smaller man.

Danny gritted his teeth, refusing to look away, refusing to back down, even as his gut twisted in trepidation.

McCann brought his face closer to Danny’s and he smiled again, but this smile was different. Gone was the smugness and mild amusement and in its stead… less a true smile and more a wolfish baring of teeth, ominous and openly threatening.

“Get down on your knees and I’ll give you the phone.” The mercenary merely breathed out the words, but his barely contained fury sounded in every single syllable.

Danny swallowed, throat painfully dry, nausea rising to the point where he could taste bile.

“Now.” McCann growled, low and dark. His hand was on his gun and he held it up, gesturing towards Steve without ever releasing Danny from the grip of his poisonous gaze.

Danny swallowed hard, tears suddenly pricking his eyes, that dark feeling of dread threatening to return with a vengeance. "Yeah, y-yeah," he rasped, then, stubbornly holding McCann’s eye and fighting desperately to hold on to his composed façade, he lowered himself slowly on to one knee, then the other. He stared up, biting back the rebellious words he desperately wanted to voice to counteract his humiliation at submitting like this to the twisted man. But such resistance could only threaten Steve’s safety yet further.

McCann glared down at him. The ice-cold, intelligent gaze bored into Danny’s very soul, taunting him with silent promises of what was to come between them. McCann let the moment draw out before nodding once, apparently satisfied.

“Good boy,” he whispered.

Danny didn’t move, seemingly frozen in place. Those two simple words rang round and round in his head even as McCann finally broke eye contact and stepped back, even as he barked an order to one of his men. The blonde detective finally jerked back to reality as a cellphone hit him square in the chest, tossed idly in his direction, his fumbling fingers catching the thing but by luck and certainly not design. 

"Use that," McCann ordered blithely, "It’s a burner of course. Keep it short and sweet now, Danny. No names either … you're an anonymous caller requesting an ambulance to this address. No more, no less. It'll be enough for them to figure it all out."

Danny’s hands shook as he dialed emergency services. He felt like he was watching everything happening helplessly, from a great distance away. It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be real.

His request for paramedics was succinct and provided the barest of essentials… except for the grievousness of the victim having sustained a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Spurred on by a flux of boldness, Danny never lost eye contact with McCann as he dared to leave that critical information with the dispatcher in spite of the mercenary’s specific directions to the contrary. He didn't miss the look of disapproval on the man's face for that second act of real defiance.

There would be a consequence; one that Danny would shoulder, though he felt a spike of fear as McCann's gaze lingered briefly over Steve's bloody torso before settling piercingly back to him.

The man's eyes were sharp and briefly angry. Danny's heart nearly stopped at the unspoken depth of the warning so silently shared in that instance. He wavered wondering what he'd so stupidly brought down on Steve until McCann smoothly got to his feet.

"Now don’t think for a moment that if you go back on your word that I won’t come back to finish what I’ve started here… Now let's go," McCann said.

Danny was dragged to his feet and propelled forward to land in the midst of the small group, the burner subsequently removed from his hands. Moments later, they were gone, leaving Steve unconscious and alone.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	3. Chapter 3

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

 Danny clambered into the SUV as instructed behind one of McCann's men. He was positioned in the rearmost seat; the very distant third row, intentionally sandwiched between Spenser McCann and the nameless gorilla who had preceded him. The SUV was impressive and apparently designed for their special use based upon the blacked-out side windows and heavy front end.  

"Isn't this nice?" McCann nearly cooed, his knee and thigh rocking tightly to Danny's own. The bastard was grinning from ear to ear, self-important smugness at the success of his plan written all over his long, lean face. Danny squirmed away from the heated warmth, but came up against the rigid wall of McCann's armed man who slammed his shoulder resentfully into him.

McCann laughed at his reaction, a gloved hand finding Danny's knee. He sighed dramatically, then lifted his hand again before making a show of removing each black glove one finger at a time. He laid them in his lap - one neatly placed on top of the other - and smiled. With no barrier remaining other than the material of Danny's slacks, the mercenary’s hand returned to its spot on his captive's knee, finger splaying comfortably there for a longer moment before leaving him with the gentlest of pats. 

Danny heaved in a deep, shaky breath through his nose, his eyes a darker blue with worry as he met McCann's steady, confident gaze.   Beads of sweat trickled down his back. The air-conditioner was turned on high and the SUV was on the move at a very normal speed. Yet, inside, Danny was already approaching a frightful breaking point. Terrified for Steve, needing to know how he was, desperate for a chance to get away from McCann, but knowing he ’ d have to bide his time.

"What the hell do you want?" he muttered belligerently, hoping vaguely he could play for time before McCann got any friendlier. "Why … me?!”

McCann laughed and squeezed Danny’s knee tighter, before running his hand gently up the inside of Danny’s thigh. "Why not you, Danny? Would you prefer I choose someone else? Who would you prefer this to happen to?"

Danny clamped his legs tight together, frowning in confusion at the line of questioning. 

McCann just smiled.  “Think about my questions, Danny. Who  _would_ you prefer this to happen to? Whose safety would you risk to save yourself? Think on that, because that those are dilemmas that are going to become very close to your heart over the next few days," he vowed darkly.

“W-what do you mean?” Danny croaked. He held his ground – barely – refusing to baulk as the mercenary's hand shifted again, his knuckles gently moving upwards to calmly graze his cheek. 

McCann leaned forwards, looking searchingly into Danny’s eyes. "Well, Danny… by some stupid unexpected luck, your Commander survived our first encounter. Maybe he’ll even survive this tragic shooting… time will tell. But if so... I'm loathe to leave him alive. He’ll no doubt want to cause me trouble. However, if you're with me now, Danno… I’ll let him be. I'm going to say this one time, and one time only, my boy. I won't be benevolent again. Any empathy or … softness … won't happen a second time. You  _are_ going to join me while Dylan and I carry out this mission. You  _are_  going to help me… relieve my stress. After that…   well, we’ll see if you still hold any interest for me or not." 

Danny gasped, trying to get his head round the on-going threat to his partner. Danny  _had_  to get away,  _Jesus_ … but could McCann really get to Steve again? The rest of the team would be with him, would keep him safe, surely. 

As he wrestled with the ramifications of McCann's words, a brief memory flashed to the forefront of Danny’s mind; Dylan Walker- McCann’s lover. He’d been jealous of the interest that McCann had shown Danny before. A stab of hope came to him. “B-but Walker- he's your  _boyfriend!_ He can’t want me … and you…. He won’t let you….” 

McCann snorted with mirth. “My  _Dylan_  knows his place. His place is beneath me. Kinda like you, right, Danny-boy?” 

“F-fuck you!” Danny spat out. But he swallowed hard as McCann's large hand fell back to his slacks, his head shaking to the negative despite the fact he was so beautifully trapped now. Large fingers, spread wide, lay heavy on his thigh. Heat leaked through to his skin, nauseatingly close and entirely too familiar. 

"As part of our initial venture together, I want you to get used to this," McCann said softly, his hand lazily tracing circles from Danny's knee to his inner thigh. "Get used to me. You’ll accept my… attentions  _willingly_ , in time. Resisting can be fun, but it's going to get old, Danno. I’m not going to tolerate it for long. You’ll learn to do what’s expected of you just like every single person who’s come before you has. Every single one." 

"Fuck you," Danny growled again, teeth and knees clenched as McCann's hand splayed possessively over his right thigh. "It's not going to happen, McCann … ever." 

"Oh it will, I can promise you that," McCann leered. He squeezed his fingers into Danny's thigh, hand moving ever higher, his intentions more than clear. 

At that moment an ambulance flashed passed them, heading in the opposite direction. Heading for  _Steve,_ Danny hoped. Prayed. An HPD car followed close behind, siren blaring. Danny’s eyes followed it desperately… if he could be sure Steve was safe he could  _try_ …. 

It was as though McCann read his mind. “No, he’s not safe. Even if he’s alive, he’s not safe. I have men  _everywhere_. And he’s not the only one that’s not safe Danny. I have so many tools at my disposal to teach you obedience. You think just because your commander has his chance now that you can try to resist? Allow me to demonstrate your mistake….” He leaned over to catch the eye of the man sitting on the opposite side of Danny and gave a small wave of his hand. "Time check please." 

"It's one-fifteen. So based upon her daily school schedule, she's just about starting her English class," the goon lightly offered after checking his watch. "She's currently grading at a fairly respectable B+ grade point average." He paused as if searching his mind as the father sitting next to him gasped and visibly jolted from the shock of hearing the level of detail already gained on his daughter. Then he opened the tablet he'd tucked into an inner jacket pocket, flipping it open to demonstrate the live feed he had of the front steps of the Academy of the Sacred Hearts. He allowed Danny to see the images being broadcast as he calmly provided the information which his boss had requested.

"Seventh grade if I recall and the teacher's name is Mr. Henry Kama, aged thirty-two and quite popular amongst his young students." 

There was a long span of time where Danny merely stared at the man in disbelief, all color draining from his face as he struggled to make sense of what had just been so blandly quoted. Anger became fear as his eyes dropped to the tablet and he saw the white steps to Grace's private school, but he was in denial. It was impossible. Then, for as long as that deathly silence lasted, the resultant explosion in the small space of the rear seat of the SUV was much worse. 

" _Sonofabitch_!" Danny shouted loudly, arms flailing as he went first for McCann who burst out laughing. There was limited room to manoeuver and Danny was at a distinct disadvantage, yet he zeroed in on McCann's face with a frantic hatred. His fist connected sloppily with the man's cheek. 

"Stay away from her or I swear I’m gonna fucking kill you!" Danny barely got the threat out when he was struck from behind by the goon beside him, the butt of a weapon connecting with the back of his skull hard enough to send him reeling. He groaned in pain, nearly whiting out

Despite Danny's ineffective punch, Spenser continued to chuckle as the blond man literally fell into him. Danny couldn't help the whimper of very real fear that slipped out.

"Get... the fuck... off me," Danny panted, as the huge hands of McCann’s man pulled him backwards in response to some unseen instruction from the bastard himself, a beefy arm wrapping around his neck. He was held firmly in place. 

McCann chuffed a pleased laugh, before running his tongue across his teeth and lips, a look of hunger on his face. 

Danny's eyes pricked with unwanted tears as a wayward finger traced his jawline before moving slowly beneath his collar. The lazy caress continued as Danny was held still, the breath of McCann's minion loud in his ear as he was clutched to his chest. Danny closed his eyes as the first of his remaining shirt buttons was released, barely containing his nausea as his entire body trembled in abject horror. 

“I swear to God, McCann,” Danny ground out as McCann's hand toyed with the skin of his chest, stroking and exploring first one side and then the other.  “You don't want to go there …   you don’t want to do this.” 

The shirt was further pushed aside, rucked up from where he’d neatly tucked it into his slacks that morning. 

“Oh but I do," McCann oozed appreciatively as he casually unbuttoned the whole of Danny's shirt, his chest now completely exposed for his enjoyment.  “I do now more than ever, Danno.” 

Despite being over-powered, Danny couldn't help his indignation as McCann's fascination grew bolder. He tried to lash out just before his left arm was yanked and severely twisted behind his back while McCann merely paused to wait. 

The weakened muscle from his old injury wasn't ready for such abuse and he gasped, forced into a brief submission by the deep ache. Danny grimaced in distaste as the older man's fingers returned to probe and tease each of his nipples before draping even lower, tickling his ribs and leaving a heated trail, a thick thumb finding the center of his navel, where it twirled a lazy circle. 

"You see, if Uncle Steve wasn't enough for you to stay in line, Danno, perhaps using your daughter – young Grace - will be enough to provide that impetus?” McCann murmured almost distractedly, his voice turning husky as the gentle twirl of his fingers shifted into a painful pinch. “And then there's young Charlie too… so small, so delicate. He was so sick, wasn’t he? In fact hasn’t he got a hospital appointment this afternoon?” 

Danny shook his head slowly in horror, in denial. 

McCann smiled in mock sympathy. His hand fell lower until he cupped Danny’s crotch through the fabric of his slacks, pressing and the squeezing, causing the detective to harshly suck in his breath through his teeth as the pressure became a painful discomfort. 

“The sooner you stop resisting, the easier all round, don't you think?” McCann breathed softly, right in Danny’s ear. “See, I'm going to have you, Danny. And I'm going to break you. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging to do every – last - thing I tell you to do. It’s just up to you how much the people you love have to suffer in the process.” 

Danny stared at him dumbly, gulping in breaths, just trying to process, trying to catch up with the hideous turn his life had just taken. He barely caught the slight motion of McCann's head as he nodded to his henchman. 

“We'll take this up again later, Danno. Can't have you seeing where we're going now, can we?” 

And Danny certainly didn't have time to react to that before a suffocating hood was pulled over his head. The sharp prick of a needle in his arm followed rapidly, and then there was nothing at all. 

  ** _~ to be continued ~_**  


	4. Chapter 4

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Everything was wrong. His body felt wrong, his mind felt wrong. And something else… there was something he should be remembering.

Steve struggled to wake, clawing at the thick fog that gripped his mind. His arms, his legs… every part of him was leaden, completely unresponsive to his needs. He frowned as an attempt to move proved senselessly painful. He felt sick, grimacing against the nausea that grew steadily.

Then, from nowhere, cold facts began to hit him. He’d be _shot_ … by _Spenser McCann_ … and… oh God, _Danny_! Danny had come. Danny had thought Steve needed him and he had come without hesitation. _Danny had walked into McCann_ _’_ _s trap_.

Panic flushed through him, and the adrenaline it brought forth lent him the ability to crack his eyes open. He barely registered the recovery room, zeroing in instead on the sight of one of his team, thank fuck. Chin was there, right beside him, face clouded with worry.

"Chin," Steve croaked desperately. "Where's … Danny? Have… have to help… Danny."

But he didn’t even hear Chin’s response as his wakening mind chose that very moment to assault him with images of McCann’s attack. He closed his eyes as threatening voices and terrifying pictures ricocheted around inside his head. He tried to make sense of the memories as they struck him, tried to unpick what he had heard so he might know what had come next… but what he remembered did nothing to calm his thoughts. The opposite- his worry skyrocketed sharply upwards.

_“Drink it down Commander,” Spenser McCann had chuckled as two of his men wedged him tightly into the corner of his own living room wall. A third closing the loop with a whisky bottle in hand. “I want it all gone … every last drop.”_

_There was a gun at his temple, another wedged tightly into his gut. His hair was pulled back roughly as his own hand was forced upwards to his lips, his fingers wrapped tightly around the neck to the whiskey bottle by black-gloved hands._

_"Hurry now," McCann_ _’_ _s sinister smile seemed to float in front of his face as the whiskey took effect. "Your partner will be here soon. Very, very soon."_

 _He shook his head, trying to fight, spluttering and using everything in his means to resist them. But then someone held a tablet in front of his face. Live feed. It was playing a live feed. A feed of a young girl with a flowing mane of brunette hair. A young girl who laughed as she ambled arm in arm with her closest friend; the remains of a half-shared mandarin clutched in one hand as her satchel swung carelessly from the other. A young girl who he loved like his own daughter, who he could never, never endanger… The implications of the images, the proximity of someone of McCann_ _’_ _s to Grace Williams, tore at his heart, silencing and stilling him as instantly as a double tap to the head, just without the bloody aftermath. He was overpowered not by strength, but by fear- something almost alien to the SEAL._

_He did exactly as he was told. There on the floor - propped slightly against the wall of his home office - he gagged and spluttered as he downed nearly the entire bottle, the sour taste of both the liquid and the 'persuasion' churning his stomach. Eyes watering and throat numb, the familiar shapes of his own house began to swim around him._

_Things got distant after that, dim. McCann_ _’_ _s face, looming, leering. Whispered words that turned his stomach. Noise in the background, too; a residual echo of his house being trashed. His_ own _voice, but it somehow wasn_ _’_ _t his own voice at all. And Danny's voice … pleading with him from far, far away. Frightened, concerned, almost frantic._

_"Steve! I'm almost there … I'm pulling into your street right now …"_

_Then the familiar roar of the Camaro in his driveway followed by the overwhelming sound of a single gunshot at incredibly close range. He'd been momentarily deafened as he'd stared up into the smiling eyes of the man who'd pulled the trigger. Staring in disbelief as the hot sharp pain finally registered in his brain just before his body revolted for Steve to remember … nothing._

Steve gasped in shock. “Oh God. Tell me... tell me Danny’s safe. Chin _please_.”

Chin squeezed Steve’s shoulder gently, his mouth set in a hard line. “I’m sorry Steve. We haven’t been able to find him.”

"Oh my god. No, no, no, no," Steve silently mouthed as Chin grasped his arm, the worry etched in hard lines across his face.

Steve cringed as the painful dream-like memory became reality and he absorbed the truth without needing to have more tangible proof. He squirmed helplessly, his legs wanting to move as they fought a sickly, tired body, and he winced as the slight movement pulled on freshly tied stitches.

"Steve?" Chin coached softly. "Steve ... take it easy. Calm down. Take it easy before they kick me out of here. I need to know what you remember … can you tell me what happened inside your house?"

Unable to answer at first, Steve shook his head because surely he couldn’t be remembering right, it _couldn't_ have happened. A feeling of loss and panic arched through his chest, sending a few of his monitors into a mechanical state of alarm. He didn't remember all of it, yet what he remembered was enough for total panic to set in. " _Grace_? He was… he was _watching_ her. Grace, is she….”

Chin shook his head, squeezing Steve’s wrist gently. "Steve, take it easy. Grace is _fine_. She’s fine, I promise you. When we couldn't reach Danny, we picked her up at cheerleading practice and that was hours ago. She’s with Rachel and Charlie and they’re all safe. Steve, _who_ was watching her?"

Steve gasped with relief, not even registering Chin’s question, but then his face twisted in pain because _Danny_. The shock, his weakness, the medications, they all combined to render his usual iron control on his emotions non-existent. He was struggling badly, struggling to make sense of what was happening and struggling to make sense to Chin.

Chin’s voice was gentle, coaxing, and Steve _knew_ he needed to give his friend more information but he just couldn’t seem to be able to control his train of thought in any way.

“Listen Steve. We know Danny was involved somehow. He didn’t turn up when the call came in that you’d been injured but we listened to the original 911 call. It was anonymous but it was _Danny_ _’_ _s_ voice. We all knew it right away and voice recognition confirmed it. But then we ran the GPS on the Camaro. It was in a random supermarket parking lot across town with the keys still in the ignition. Danny's badge, cell phone and weapon were left on the rear seat. There was no CCTV coverage and crime lab drew a blank. Nothing. We've got nothing, Steve. There's been no word from him, no sign of him. I've got an APB out, but we need to understand what’s happened. Did you see him? Was he with you when you were shot?"

But Steve’s response went no way towards answering his questions.

"How long?" Steve asked desperately, his throat closing as his chest similarly constricted. He blinked through frustrated tears, and could plainly see Chin’s shocked reaction at seeing just how upset he was. He didn’t care. "Chin … how long has it been?"

"Over six hours … almost seven," Chin admitted worriedly.

"Seven hours," Steve whispered distractedly as his medically befuddled brain tried to rationalize the length of time and what had likely happened since his last recollections. He blinked his eyes in rapid succession, confused and barely able to focus. " _Seven_?"

"Steve? Do you know who did this?" Chin repeated, and he was pushing harder now. "Who shot you? You were found in a setup that was meant to look like a suicide attempt. Your house was ransacked as if you'd intentionally done it yourself and … the whiskey? But … this is you … and who the hell tries to commit suicide by shooting themselves in the stomach? Steve, what the hell happened? We know that’s not what happened. Help me out here Steve please.”

"He's got Danny," Steve whispered almost to himself. " _McCann_." His incredulous disbelief, his fear– they nearly wrecked his voice. "He has him … he lured him to my place. They could be anywhere by now. _Anything_ could have h-happened."

"Who?" Chin said abruptly. He leaned closer, his urgency palpable as he dug his fingers into Steve's arm, drawing the injured man’s gaze back to his. "Who was it … who has Danny, Steve? Did you say _McCann_?!"

"Spenser McCann," Steve finally pushed out through clenched teeth. "Ambushed … he forced the whiskey on me… I don't really know what happened after that … but it was Spenser McCann with four … maybe five of his men.” He frowned, screwing up his face as he fought to _remember_. “There’s some mission. They have a mission… I don’t know if it’s here or… I don’t know. But he wanted Danny. He came for Danny and _he got him_... he's had him _seven hours_ , Chin."

"McCann! But INTERPOL pegged him in Dubai," Chin hissed uncontrollably, blatantly stunned to his core by what Steve was revealing. "He's _here_? What does he want with Danny?"

Steve ran a trembling hand across his face. “Fuck, Chin. Danny was injured when McCann had him the first time, but there was… other stuff. Other things happened, I don’t, I can’t remember what you know, _fuck_. Danny wasn’t raped, he wasn’t… but McCann wanted him. He got in Danny’s head. He said he was gonna come back for him. I guess he meant it” Steve stared at Chin’s shocked face, eyes now wide and beseeching. “ _Seven hours_ , Chin. He’s had him _seven hours!_ ”

Gasping audibly, Chin dragged his own hands down his face. “ _Fuck_! Steve…,” he trailed off, lost for words and Steve got it entirely.

McCann. This was all too soon… they hadn’t recovered from his _first_ attack yet.

Chin and Danny had both been injured, they were both pushing themselves to get back to where they had been. _Jesus_ , because of McCann's attack on The Palace and HPD headquarters, they didn’t even have a proper base to work out of yet. They had no real formal offices yet to speak of, reconstruction and repair still underway, and were working out of cramped, but serviceable modular trailers. Equipment was rudimentary in comparison to what they were all used to. Chin, especially, mourned the loss of the powerful smart table inside the large war room, Steve knew he did, for all he remained stoic on the subject. All because of McCann. And he was back already.

There were nurses in the room now, plainly responding to the alarms signifying Steve’s fluctuating vitals, but their suggestion that Chin leave for their injured patient's welfare was dismissed out of hand.

"No, he needs to stay," Steve insisted breathlessly. "This is critical.Ch-Chin, tell me what you’ve done. Everything. I need to know what’s already been done.”

“Okay, okay, take it easy,” Chin soothed, bending down close again. “We had no clue what was going on so we’ve taken every precaution. Danny and Lou’s families are under HPD protection,” he said, counting out the actions they’d taken on his fingers. “We’ve officers outside the door here to protect _you_. We’ve issued an APB for Danny, we’ve had roadblocks set up and facial rec is running, searching for him constantly on CCTV systems and traffic-cam statewide. The main docks and airports are being monitored. Crime lab are still working at your house and I’m gonna get them to take a second run on Danny’s car. We’re doing everything we can, covering all bases until we know more.”

Steve nodded brusquely, struggling to focus. Pain was building in his gut, fiery and sharp. His eyes squinted to the opposite side of the bed from where Chin stood and he met a nurse's warning gaze, then he saw the syringe in her hand. He'd earned himself additional medication and would be forced to rest regardless of his wishes.

"Chin, listen,” he grunted out between clenched teeth. “He had eyes on Grace. He was _filming_ her- he showed me a _live feed_ of her. You gotta search Danny's house and the Edward’s for cameras and listening devices, and… .” Steve broke off, simply unable to finish his sentence as a wave of agony stole his breath. He moaned tightly and closed his eyes.

Through the swirling pain he heard Chin swear in disbelief, knew his colleague would get how bad that was. Not only did McCann have eyes on Grace, he could use that fact as an on-going threat to force Danny along a certain path… and Steve was damn sure he knew what that path was. He screwed his eyes up tight praying, _praying_ that nothing had happened to his partner yet. They needed to cut the man's intel off at the knees and then bring Danny home.

But there was more, and Steve was aware enough to feel a flash of anger that they had been entirely unprepared for this. “And call INTERPOL- find out what the _hell_ happened, why they didn’t know he was coming here…."

Spenser McCann had vowed to return to Oahu to complete the second half of his vague mission. Something which INTERPOL was keenly interested in heading off as it related to the biochemist, Doctor Mercier. Yet, that agency had obviously missed something critically important, because INTERPOL had last reported McCann’s location as _Dubai_.

McCann, along with his dangerous Second and lover, Dylan Walker, as well as key members of their team were all meant to be there, together. INTERPOL agents were meant to be monitoring them by unknown, shadowy means, and had supposedly been above board in keeping in touch with the Hawaiian agencies, the FBI and the State Department. Lines of communication were meant to be spread wide open. Yet here McCann was, on Oahu, in Steve’s home, abducting Steve’s partner.

"Speak to… the Governor a-and Agent LaRouche," Steve forced out. "Gotta get… everyone working _together_."

But he was out of time. As the world blurred around him, the drugs pulling him back towards oblivion, he choked out a few last, desperate words.

“Gotta get Danny _home_.  _Please_ , Chin.”

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny woke slowly, entirely confused. His mind felt wrong, like it was full of cotton wool, and his limbs felt impossibly heavy, his responses remote and ineffective.

It had all been a dream. It _must_ have all been a dream. No, not a dream, a fucking _nightmare_. But there was no hood over his head, there was no maniac taunting him. He was barefoot, half-dressed and, though he didn’t remember changing out of his clothes, he was comfortable enough; lying propped against something warm. But something was still decidedly off.

Eyes partly opening as he woke more, Danny swallowed against a faint metallic taste.  He was thirsty, his mouth was bone-dry and a deep ache throbbed at the base of his skull.

Had he been drinking? He felt like shit, he _must_ have been drinking. He must still be _drunk_.

The room was dark, he couldn’t make much out, but there was a TV on in front of him. He looked at it, watching the dancing shapes until they resolved into the players in a soccer match. Three-nil was the score, apparently. His eyes wandered as he tried to make out where he was. The flickering light from the TV revealed little in the blackness. Was he at Steve’s?  He hadn’t been _this_ drunk at Steve’s for a very, very long time.

He was just hoping vaguely that he hadn’t make too much of a fool of himself when something shifted beneath him. He froze, blinking hard. Something jolted in his mind and all of a sudden he had the disconcerting feeling that he was looking down on himself from above... but there was something very, very wrong with the picture he was seeing. He frowned, trying to understand what the hell was going on… then his distress doubled as he realized his shirt was indeed missing… and that he was laying propped against another person’s bare chest. He didn’t even have a moment to speculate as to who that person might be before the all-too-familiar scent of a cologne wafted into his conscious mind. _McCann!_ Not Steve’s house. Not Steve. _Steve had been shot_! Oh God, his best friend had been shot and now _McCann_ had him!

Danny inhaled sharply, the kaleidoscope of horrors overwhelming him. But then he felt something unmistakable, something that grounded him in that heart-stopping moment. He squeezed his eyes shut in shock as he realized McCann’s hard cock was pressing into his lower back, sandwiched between their bodies.

Danny tried to jerk away, his movements sluggish and weak, but, snake-like, an arm whipped around his chest and easily pulled him back down. It slid slowly upwards, until the hand was at his neck. The grip tightened slowly.

He choked, tried to grab at that arm with both hands but he couldn’t even lift them, the grip of the drug still too strong. His feet scrabbled pathetically for purchase on the leather sofa they were reclined on together, their intimate position making a mockery of the reality of the situation.

“No. Bad boy,” McCann admonished quietly, squeezing harder until Danny couldn’t breathe and he could hear an awful gurgling noise which could only be coming from him.

Then suddenly the pressure was gone. Danny lay there, gasping for breath, unable to move, as that arm slid back down to his chest. He lay, held tight in the arms of the man who had haunted his dreams since he first tore their lives apart, months earlier. Terror, utter terror, coursed through him and he shivered from head to foot.

McCann, attention apparently back on the soccer game, kept that one strong arm wrapped possessively around Danny’s chest and the other now moved lazily, caressing his neck, his face, his torso, every touch sending shivers of dread and disgust down Danny’s spine.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear the sound of the soccer match and, as the half-time whistle blew, a cheer from the crowd marked a change in the intensity of McCann’s attentions. That arm tightened and that roving hand moved to tweak a nipple, _hard._ Danny moaned softly, legs pushing ineffectively against the leather again, but he was physically unable to wrest himself from the bizarrely intimate position.

He felt sick, so sick he might vomit, the drugs and the situation rendering him nauseous, trepidation wracking his body.

“I’m glad you’re finally awake, Danny,” McCann murmured, his deep voice sending vibrations right through Danny’s body. “But I know my drugs and I know you still just can’t really move. How frustrating for you.”

A soft kiss dropped onto Danny’s shoulder and he shuddered at the foul display of mock sympathy.

“I have about two hours, I would say, before you _could_ put up a fight. Before I would really be able to test your resolve to obey me in order to keep your loved ones safe. Should I wait? What do you think?”

McCann shifted behind him, the man’s semi-hard member rubbing against his lower back. It thickened instantly and, as the bastard moaned softly, Danny knew. He just _knew_ what was coming and he had to get away, he _had_ to. He had to get back to Steve, he couldn’t be here, this couldn’t happen to him!

As if reading his mind, McCann spoke, his voice low and thick with desire. “No, you can’t get away _petal_. I’ve waited long enough to have you… and now it’s time.”

 

 

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters
> 
> WARNING- graphic sexual assault. DO NOT read if you are sensitive. Or... ok, normal. It's taken us several months of repeatedly changing our minds to get to the point where we decided to actually post this and we are all now hiding behind each other in a darkened corner.
> 
> You have so totally been warned!!!!

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Danny was trapped in a terrifying nightmare, impossible to comprehend, impossible to accept as real.

Drugged and weak, he was helpless to fight the monster who intended to rape him- the man who was pawing at his body, biting his shoulder, moaning as he thrust his hardened cock against the small of Danny’s back.

Danny was desperate. He needed help- he needed the team to swoop into the rescue, he needed Steve… but Steve could be dead. He shook his head in denial, tears filling his eyes.

Then something clicked in his head because he was a _cop_ , not a victim. This couldn’t happen to him- he couldn’t let himself be raped, drug or no drug. It _wasn’t_ going to happen. He had to fight back, get away, find out if Steve was still alive. Get a gun and finish McCann once and for all.

Riding on adrenaline and fear, Danny fought the effects of the drug with everything he had. Teeth gritted, he managed to bend his knees, move his legs. Trembling with the effort, he braced his bare feet against the couch and pushed, _hard_.

But he found no purchase against the plush, buttery leather. His rubbery limbs flopped down again uselessly, feet sliding away from him. He gathered himself for another try… _nothing happened_. He gasped in shock because that was it. That was all he had. He _couldn’t_ get himself out of this. McCann was going to be able to do whatever the hell he wanted to him.

McCann laughed long and loud, apparently amused by his prisoner’s desperate, weak attempts. Then he brought his mouth to Danny’s ear, hot breath puffing against his captive’s skin. “I’ve been thinking about you for _weeks_ ,” he hissed. “I’ve been fantasizing about what I was going to do to you since the moment we parted. I’ve been looking forward to this. Now I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to take it like a good boy, petal.”

Danny shook his head slowly. “P-please, no! Don’t!” he choked out.

Long fingers pushed past the elastic of the sleep pants he’d been changed into while he was out, moving without hesitation to Danny’s soft cock. Danny moaned in distress as McCann grabbed him and squeezed hard, then began to caress him. The fingers were skillful, but Danny’s terror was absolute and the mercenary’s efforts to excite him inevitably futile.

McCann laughed softly. “No matter. All in good time. In time you’ll _beg_ me to make you come. You’re mine and there will be no escape from that… but now it’s time for me to mark my territory. Relax… you might even enjoy this.”

There was a blur of movement and Danny’s drugged mind struggled to keep up. He felt McCann shifting from underneath him, then found himself landing on his back on the floor with a bump, without understanding how it had happened. His pants were yanked down and then off his body. A light went on and Danny blinked wildly in the sudden brightness, his head spinning.

Danny finally refocused his vision only to see McCann crouching between his legs, smiling toothily. The man was naked too and making no effort to conceal his erection. McCann pushed Danny’s legs apart, crouching between them before Danny could even try to attempt to close them again. He hooked an arm under Danny’s left knee and hoisted it up, then pinned the leg against Danny’s chest with a sharp elbow.

Danny watched in horror as McCann stilled, pausing to study his naked body- his chest, his cock, his exposed hole.

The man hummed in approval, then looked up, looked right into his eyes, his gaze cold and mocking. He licked a long finger, slowly and deliberately. “Is this your first time, Danny? Have you done this before?”

Danny didn’t answer. He panted in distress, trying to push at McCann with arms that wouldn’t work, trying to close his legs, trying to wriggle away. Nothing happened. His panicked movements were sluggish and weak, barely perceptible. He lay there, trembling from head to foot.

"Let me see if I can tell," McCann breathed softly, then lowered his saliva-soaked finger between Danny’s legs and thrust it into his hole, no hesitation, holding Danny’s panicked gaze greedily.

" _Fuck_!" Danny groaned, jolting in shock at the painful intrusion.

“My question answered?” said McCann, a victorious smile crossing his lips. His eyes stayed on Danny’s, plainly drinking in every reaction as he began to work the finger in and out. “I wondered about you and your Commander, you seem so very close… but I know better now. Ahhhh, you’re so tight.” He moaned erotically at his own sick observation. “And you have no idea what’s coming, I can tell. You don’t know what to expect, what it’s going to feel like. I can see it in your eyes. I’m going to be your first, petal. And I think you’re going to learn to _love_ it!”

A second finger joined the first. McCann was breathing as hard as Danny was, that hard face reddening, sweat building slowly as the mercenary’s blatant arousal increased. The burn of those fingers moving inside, thrusting and stretching, was nearly unbearable and Danny gasped, his breath seizing in his throat.

McCann loomed over him, then ducked his head. The older man kissed, sucked and licked tracks down his chest. Tasting and testing; painfully nipping at tender skin as he went, his fingers still pumping mercilessly inside.

He might still be found in time, Danny thought desperately as McCann’s teeth left what would have to become a livid bruise on his inner thigh.

His eyes flicked towards the door on the other side of the room. Somehow this might still not happen- the team had to know he’d been taken by now, they had to be looking for him. They might still storm in to the rescue and take him home. They _had_ to, because he couldn't do this. He couldn't take any more, this couldn’t happen. The thoughts rumbled repeatedly through his head, but his forlorn hope was fading fast.

In the background, Danny dimly registered a pause and the unmistakable click of a bottle opening.

McCann was panting hard, eagerness evident as he mumbled wildly to himself. His intent obvious as three newly slickened fingers were pushed deeply inside Danny’s already irritated hole.

"This will hurt," McCann whispered softly, a smile clear in his voice. "The lube will help ... but still ... you're so very ... _tight_ , petal.”

"No, no, no, no," Danny hissed as the fingers pushed inside him determinedly. The slick hardly helped the burn as those fingers drove deeper accompanied by a satisfied grunt.

There was an unexpected hiatus in the abuse as the invading fingers were abruptly removed, but any relief was short-lived. McCann moved to lie between his legs, his heavy body blanketing him. Danny felt his hips being positioned, McCann's rock-hard length threatening and persistent as it replaced his fingers to push against Danny’s entrance.

"McCann, _please_ don’t." Danny pleaded weakly as he tried to turn to his side to escape. He looked to the door again. It remained shut. There was no noise outside, no gunshots, no shouts. Rescue wasn’t going to come. He was going to be raped. He was actually going to be raped! 

He tried to scramble away one last time and utterly failed as McCann easily tossed him back. The arm that had pinned his leg earlier forced it back into position, trapped between his chest and McCann’s.

Danny trembled as McCann leaned in closer, cold eyes fixing steadfastly on his own desperate gaze, the hunger and desire in them terrifying Danny to his very soul. The bastard was clearly intent on drinking in his every reaction. But somehow he couldn’t look away, as much as he wanted to. The mercenary gave him a hungry, wolfish sneer.

"No," Danny murmured just once more.

McCann snapped his hips forward.

The burn and rawness of that initial penetration took whatever breath Danny had left completely away and he arched his back at the sharp, inescapable pain, eyes now squeezing shut.

"It will be easier on you if you just relax. Let me in," McCann grunted out each word as he thrust over and over again, each effort getting him deeper, hurting Danny more.

Danny fingers scrabbled uselessly in the pile of the carpet before weakly finding the mercenary's forearms where he failed at doing more than hanging on as the man forced his way into his body. He felt like he was being torn apart.

McCann’s hips hit Danny’s backside as the man bottomed out, then he paused, blowing hard. Danny opened his eyes to see the bastard looming over him, looking down at him, sweat dripping onto Danny’s chest. McCann was clearly reveling in the pain and distress of his new toy.

“Do you feel me Danny? Does that feel good? Big, isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but bared his teeth, then drew back, only to push in with a brutal thrust that left Danny crying out in pain, then another, and another.

McCann’s rhythm slowly increased in time to the wanton noises coming incessantly from his hated mouth. The pain intensified and, unable to do anything to physically escape it, Danny found himself trying to retreat into his own mind. His eyes wandered, searching frantically for something to latch onto, something that wasn’t the man dominating his every sense… the TV, a lamp, _anything_ … but McCann _saw_. McCann realized what he was trying to do and grabbed his chin, yanking at it, forcing Danny’s attention back on him.

“You stay with me, boy. You hear me?” he growled in Danny’s face.

"Please ...," Danny pleaded soundlessly as McCann started up his ruthless attack again, rocking Danny’s body viciously with each bruising thrust. As the assault progressed, the room spun around Danny in a haze of drugs and heated, unbearable pain and disbelieving horror. He sobbed, his emotions in a turmoil as McCann gripped his leg tighter and pushed against it harder, managing to force himself yet further inside as he claimed Danny for his own.

Danny shook his head, a tear running down his cheek as he watched McCann’s face twist in ecstasy, felt bony fingers roaming, digging into his shoulder, his neck, his leg, felt his attacker’s hips push harder, his cock go deeper. The man grunted loudly, then dipped his head to bite savagely into Danny’s shoulder. Hot blood trickled from the wound and Danny cried out in agony.

A muffled curse, another sharp cut of teeth, a final merciless thrust and McCann froze, stiffening from head to foot as he released deep inside Danny’s body. He stayed there, pushing and grunting for torturous seconds before he flopped down, laying spent on Danny’s chest. He shifted, shoving Danny’s cramping leg out from between their sweat-soaked bodies, but stayed deep inside him as they both panted hard for breath.

"So, so ... _good_ , so tight." McCann murmured affectionately. He hauled in another breath, then lifted his head, that poisonous gaze searching out Danny’s and pinning it. He spoke again, his tone different entirely, a threatening growl in his voice. “You’re mine now, Danno. Always. Never, never in my life have I let someone go once I’ve come inside them. This is only our beginning, the first time of many. And the night is still young.”

And with that he pulled out, his cock leaving Danny with a moist, lurid plop then got to his feet and walked away without so much as a backward glance.

Danny lay there, frozen in shock, gripped by the burning pain in his backside and the horror and denial and complete disgust in his mind. He felt warm liquid run from his hole and it was all too much, _everything_ was too much. Bile rose in his throat as he gasped dumbly for oxygen and he choked. He flopped limply onto his side, catching sight of blood on the carpet beneath him as he moved, and vomited on the floor. 

 

**_~ to be continued ~_ **


	6. Chapter 6

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

“Spenser McCann? Are you serious? _Jesus Christ…_ ”

Lou’s exclamation reflected the look of utter shock on the faces of Kono and Duke Lukela, HPD Sergeant. The three had been standing together poring over CCTV on a monitor which was so inferior to what they had had before, Chin Ho Kelly could cry if he let himself think about it.

But they had more than enough to cry about already.

“I thought McCann was meant to be in freaking Dubai! What the hell have INTERPOL been playing at?” Lou growled in indignant disbelief.

Chin shook his head slowly, hands out to his sides. “I really don’t know, we need to make some calls.  We need to reach out to our contacts at the FBI, the State Department, the CIA. Then we’ll tackle Agent LaRouche from INTERPOL. We’ve got to find out what McCann’s doing here, where he’s based… we’ve got to get Danny home… McCann said last time that he had unfinished business here and we _think_ that business had to do with Doctor Mercier, the weapons specialist. But that could be wrong… we can’t assume anything.”

Kono looked from one face to the next, then bit her lip. “Is that why he took Danny? To force us to back off when he starts… whatever he’s going to do?”

Chin stared at her as he considered her question and wanted to agree. But he knew in his heart that simply wasn’t the case. Chin had seen the mercenary’s keen interest in his friend first hand.

“It could be I guess.” Chin quietly tried to offer. The words felt wrong though; stilted and fake as they tumbled from his mouth. “Steve thinks there’s more to it than that … but I hope you’re right.”   

The instant he'd spoken, he found himself shaking his head, unable to even _pretend_ to believe what he had hesitantly agreed with. “But if that was the reason, McCann could just have taken _Steve_ when he’d already incapacitated him - so no, it was specifically Danny he wanted.”

Chin swallowed hard at remembered innuendo from so many months earlier. The facts simply added up and it was sickening: McCann wanted Danny in all the worst ways and he’d taken him. He had him. The Asian man looked round at his teammates, each now shocked into horrified silence, and saw in their eyes that they suspected exactly what he did about the nature of McCann’s interest in their New Jersey friend. He opened his mouth, unsure what he was even going to say.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Lou growled suddenly, a dark fury emanating from the man that the team rarely saw. “I’m gonna kill him for what he did to Steve, and for whatever the hell he’s doing to Danny. No one touches our boys and gets away with it.”

Chin could only nod. Unprofessional or not he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do right then than shoot McCann square in the face.

“Yeah,” he said. Then he stood tall, straightened his shoulders. “Come on guys, I know this is… _hard_ and I know that’s an understatement… but we’ve got to keep it together. Steve’s stable, he should be just fine in time, and we _will_ get Danny home. We can’t afford to let ourselves dwell on what either of them are going through right now because it’s not going to help them one bit. We find McCann, we get Danny- that’s the only way we can hope to help the pair of them. Come on guys, let’s make some calls.”

Ten minutes later and the frustration was mounting.

Chin, fresh off the phone after a pointless conversation with an old friend in the State Department, stared at Kono as she spoke tersely into her cell, anger clear on her face. A moment later, she had terminated the connection and literally slammed her cell phone onto the top of the nearest piece of furniture.

“Nothing from the CIA or the FBI,” she snapped. “ _Nothing!_ The FBI is insistent that they’ve moved on and aren’t even working with LaRouche or any of her INTERPOL counterparts in France.”

“It doesn’t make sense when the agencies were working closely on the McCann case before. I don’t get it,” said Chin, shaking his head in confusion. He clenched his jaw tight. “Fine. We’re calling Agent LaRouche… now!” He pulled up the contact information he needed on the nearest laptop. Rarely were his emotions this close to the surface; palpable to everyone near him. “I’m going to try a video call- I want to see her face.”

The rest of the team gathered in silence around him as he made the call, all eyes on the laptop screen.

“Maybe, just maybe,” Chin murmured as they waited in the hope the Skype call would connect. “They haven’t been telling us the whole story for a valid reason. I’m actually _hoping_ they haven’t, been because at least then there’s the chance they could have intel they’ll be pressured into sharing. And with that, just maybe LaRouche will have an up-do-date location. Something we can work with. Something which leads us to McCann and then to Danny."

“That’s a helluva stretch, my friend,” Lou muttered under his breath. “Okay, so if this doesn’t work... we find out for ourselves what the hell McCann is doing here, right? We use that to force INTERPOL to bring us into the loop. Right? Because in all likelihood, McCann wouldn’t just have come for Danny… would he?”

“I hope not. I don’t think so …. but, I don’t know,” Chin waffled though his own line of reasoning. He’d met the man one on one and had been left with a certain … impression. He could still feel the powerful mercenary's larger than life presence; none of that was good either. McCann was a force to be reckoned with and from the start, he’d been intrigued by their friend. He’d vowed to come back for Danny. And now? Well maybe he had simply decided to make good on that promise.

But to risk his men? His entire team on a whim? Surely not- surely there would have to be more to bring them to Oahu.

“Shhh, we got her,” Kono announced suddenly. The team quieted instantly as their eyes moved as one to meet the cool gaze of Agent Cynthia LaRouche.

”LaRouche,” Chin acknowledged the agent coldly in return. He narrowed his eyes as he measured the woman’s nervous, deep inhale. Her body language was telling … INTERPOL _knew_.

“You knew McCann was coming here,” Chin accused her. “You knew he was coming back and you didn’t say a word to us. Am I right?”

LaRouche opened her mouth to speak and then apparently thought better of it, her eyes briefly flickering off center. She was taking direction from someone off screen and Kono wasn’t the only one to bristle in anger, but she was the first to react.

"God dammit!" Kono fisted her hands, her body language expressing every ounce of her disgust, communicated even more loudly when LaRouche glanced back towards the camera. Next to her, Chin heaved in a lungful of air which came out on a loud growled exhale, mimicking his cousin's anger as she continued her tirade.

"What the hell are you all hiding!? Your intel was wrong, LaRouche! If McCann ever was in Dubai, he sure as hell isn't now! Commander McGarrett's in the hospital and Detective Williams' missing ... abducted by _Spenser McCann_!"

LaRouche hesitated, didn’t reply.

"What are he and his team doing back here?" Chin spat out. "You said his threats about returning were idle because their mission had failed! You told us they lost their primary team under fire and Mercier was back in hiding under your protection!"

Lou snorted loudly when the woman still failed to jump in with a response. “Let’s cut to the chase. He’s here now and if you’re gonna beat him on _our_ island you need _this_ team … you _need_ us and if you want our co-operation you need to give us what you know. And after what’s just happened… you owe us.”

Lou’s final comment ended on a snarl, his eyes flashing dangerously as he issued that challenge, refusing to look anywhere but directly at the agent herself.

Almost dramatically, LaRouche met the challenge before she leaned forward, her eyes never leaving Lou Grover’s face, to depress the mute key on her side of their connection. It left the Five-0 team shifting angrily on their feet as the INTERPOL side of their connection remained muted for an incredibly long period of time.

“Who the fuck is she talking to?” Lou growled out softly as LaRouche nodded as if in understanding to whomever she was listening to. Long moments passed until one final nod and the agent unmuted the line, her arms folded protectively across her chest.

"We may have not entirely told you all of the truth," Agent LaRouche admitted bluntly. She paused, perhaps expecting a loud backlash from the Five-0 officers who were staring at her coldly. Instead, they remained silent, their anger only knowingly escalating. An emotion which LaRouche clearly felt aimed directly at her from thousands of miles away.

"There are _two_ Doctors Mercier, not one." LaRouche explained. "Professor Eriq Mercier and his daughter, Doctor Isabelle Mercier, who is also a scientist in the same field of study as her father - they’re both chemical weapons engineers. As you know, both were being protected by INTERPOL resources on Oahu when McCann’s first raid occurred. We had told you that INTERPOL agents had safely sequestered the Merciers after that raid…. but that was not entirely true. We lost them. We had thought they were taken to Dubai, but with McCann returning to Oahu, we now believe the Merciers never left the Island and have been held under our noses this entire time."

"Excuse me?" Lou burst out, utterly baffled by the information. “You don’t have them? You don’t have them and … let me get this straight …. you _lost_ them? I don't even know what to say ... You seriously … lied? Why? Why would you do that and put us all in harms way?"

"Yes, they did lie,” Chin said harshly while he raised an eyebrow as his mind swiftly began to cobble an interesting story together. On the screen, Agent LaRouche adopted an even colder stance. One that was unreadable until he managed to identify the source of her organization's key issue.

"INTERPOL lied because it's trying to save face," he said smartly. "INTERPOL either screwed up ... or got screwed. Or both. And McCann? Yeah, this makes sense for that egotistical bastard.”

Still deep in thought, Chin cocked his head quizzically as he stared blindly at the keyboard of the laptop, virtually talking to himself. He quieted and then nodded since he was now positive that his blossoming theory was correct. "Regardless of the reason, under your watch, two scientists were abducted. You were led on a wild goose chase to Dubai … and then, somehow, found out the Merciers never left Hawaii. This is a public relations disaster for INTERPOL, isn’t it? That’s the problem. You tried to keep it quiet from us, from all the other agencies- that’s why none of them know anything about this. You thought you could clean up your own mess without anyone finding out anything, right?”

Lou cut in, shaking his head in disgust. “And now, because of you, Commander McGarrett is badly injured and Detective Williams … he has a god-damned _family_ , LaRouche!”

There were no apologies forthcoming though. Instead LaRouche maintained her cool facade. ”Yes. You _are_ right that we got ‘ _screwed_ ’ as you so deftly put it, Agent Kelly," LaRouche offered, ignoring Lou’s retort. "We were infiltrated and played ... the takedown at the safe house was nothing short of a massacre. We lost and we got screwed.”

“In-fighting and ego," Chin said blandly. “You need to save your jobs, don’t you? And McCann … he’s been playing with you this entire time.” 

“And Danny?” Kono asked quietly. “He’s just what? An added bonus?”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Lou muttered. “This is fucking out of hand, LaRouche!”

“Regardless of those specifics,” the agent said, ignoring the sarcastic rebuttal. “We finally have our own man close to McCann, but it's a relatively new arrangement and we're still struggling with what McCann might do next. Our man has been under for nearly eighteen months in the McCann organization and only now does he have the proximity we've been after. But because of that, he's almost too visible and his intel is not entirely consistent.”

There was a shocked silence. There was an INTERPOL agent with McCann?!

“You have a mole?” Chin breathed out. “Yet McCann’s still running circles around you? What the hell? Okay, this mole of yours … how deep is he … how close?”

"Deep," LaRouche replied evenly. “He’s an underling, but in the core team now.”

“Son of a bitch,” Lou spat out. “A fucking _mole_! We need _everything_ you know! Everything he’s told you! We want it, LaRouche! What have you heard from your man? What does he know about Detective Williams?”

LaRouche hesitated, uncertainty written all over her face. 

“Oh come on!” Lou snapped. “Can the bull. He’s either called in or he ain’t. I gotta say if your guy knows McCann’s got a cop held hostage… I would sure as hell like to think he’s at least given you a freaking heads up. Spill it, LaRouche. You owe us!”

LaRouche nodded. "Very well. He called in several hours ago and confirmed that McCann has Detective Williams,” she said bluntly.

Chin quite simply saw red. He gritted his teeth tightly together, vaguely aware of the furious exclamations emanating from his teammates. He opened his mouth to tear strips from the INTERPOL agent, but Lou got in there first.

"Well thank you so freaking much for sharing that with us.” The big man’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, his fury barely concealed. “You people are unbelievable! Un-freaking believable! You knew he had Danny?! I’m betting you knew what happened to Steve too, right?! And you never even freaking reached out to us?! I suggest you tell us something real useful right the hell _now_ … like where Danny’s being held?”

LaRouche shook her head. “That wasn’t information our mole gave us. He only confirmed Williams' status and the fact he’s involved with the guard detail McCann’s put on him. He cannot get him out without blowing the whole operation and that simply _cannot happen_. We need to understand everything McCann is planning and what he already has in place. If McCann has forced the Merciers to develop a weapon for him - a dirty bomb – and if it has actually been _built_ … we _have_ to know where it is. Once that happens… I have little doubt our man will assist in an exfil that will see both he and Williams extracted safely. Meantime we must be patient.”

“ _Patient_?! You have to be kidding me! So you’re happy for a cop to stay in McCann’s hands?! That’s… ” Chin snapped, but then hesitated, because for all he was loathe to admit it, he could see where she was coming from. Chemical weapons plots, kidnapped scientists… it was all so much bigger than what had happened to Steve and Danny. The whole _island_ could be under threat.

Yet concern for their missing friend eclipsed the rest of it for them. The thought that there was an agent in the protection detail watching Danny, and that there might be a longer term intention to get him out, offered some degree of reassurance. But any reassurance was sorely tainted, because whatever the long-term prospect of getting him home, Danny was still in McCann’s clutches.

Kono voiced the question that was gripping them all, for all it seemed unlikely a real answer would be forthcoming. “Did your man at least tell you if Danny’s okay? What’s… what’s McCann done to him?”

Something flickered across LaRouche’s cold exterior, then she visibly clenched her teeth. “Williams is alive. Be happy that we know that for certain. We will _not_ scuttle this operation for the welfare of one man. You’re just going to have to deal with that.”

Chin opened his mouth to roar at the woman, but he was a fraction of a second too slow. The connection cut dead, leaving the fractional vestiges of the Five-0 team staring in horror at a blank screen.

It was pretty damn plain INTERPOL were going to be no use at all. Until McCann got sloppy, or they got their hands on some independent intel… Danny was on his own. 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

_"You managed to live. You'll serve a purpose for me now."_

_The words were breathed into his ear and he frowned, brain sluggish, body refusing to cooperate through the drunken haze… then jerked in shock as a big calloused hand dared to stray under his shirt and across the skin of his chest. He moaned in protest, trying to turn away, flapping his hands ineffectively at that strong arm. He felt McCann’s cheek press against his own, felt him smile._

_The hands strayed lower to splay his fingers wide just above the waistline of his jeans. A possessive gesture … full of heat and innuendo._

_“N-no.” Steve choked out. “Wh-what ‘re you…?”_

_“Shhhhhhh,” hushed McCann softly. “You have a very, very nice body. Very nice.” The mercenary’s face turned so his nose was pressed to Steve’s cheek. He inhaled deeply. “Mmmmmm. Very nice indeed.”_

_"Get the fuck off me!" he managed to growl out as McCann's fingers continually caressed his skin, his fury growing despite the surge of dizziness caused by the whiskey._

_McCann laughed in delight, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek even as the Five-0 Commander tried frantically to pull away. "Danno said that once! Those were Danno's words exactly!" But then the humor was gone and McCann dolled out his next words laced with a calm threat. "But sadly, you're not him … so yes, I'll get off you … until I can get on him."_

_"What the fuck ... did ... you say?" Steve had heaved in a choked breath of air, his words had been adamant but a ragged cough had nearly ruined their import. "S-stay the hell away ... f-from him!" He blinked wildly as his vision swam and he strained harder, nowhere near to breaking free but more than willing to try for Danny's sake. To keep both his best friend, and his young daughter, safe._

_"No, I won't," McCann finally replied with a simple tilt of his head, the smile evaporating in an instant. His tone was deathly even and suddenly very quiet as he voiced his final comment. “It's really quite simple; I want him, therefore I’m taking him. He’s mine."_

_“Fuck you, McCann! Don’t you fucking touch him!” The desperation of the situation was slowly sinking in and Steve found himself trying another avenue without conscious thought. “P-please, please… leave him alone. He’s a good man. Leave him alone.”_

_McCann laughed that toxic, wolfish laugh he had. “Don’t you worry, Commander, I’ll look after him well. By the time I’ve finished with him, he’s going to be begging to stay with me. He wouldn’t come back to you if you paid him to. He’s going to beg me to fuck him more, fuck him harder.”_

_"You sick son of a bitch!" Steve tried to shout only to find a hand placed firmly over his mouth to effectively silence him._

_"Interesting response, Commander." McCann quirked a quizzical eye. Thoughtful and equally devious, he'd then nodded as if understanding something once elusive. "I knew you to be loyal partners. But how close are you really to my Danno? More than partners or even mere friends perhaps? Yes, I think much closer than I'd even known or suspected. Much closer. Like brothers … or dare I say, even more?"_

_Those cold eyes were right in front of his face now, floating in and out of focus. Strong hands gripping his shoulders. “How about it Steve? Have you been there already? Have you fucked my boy before me? Was he as tight as I’m hoping he’ll be?”_

_“You BASTARD!!!”_

Steve awoke with a jerk, wide eyes surveying his surroundings as though McCann might be right there, heart pounding wildly. There was nothing. An empty hospital room. No one by his side. Ordinarily Danny would have been by his bed, waiting to berate him for getting injured yet again. Not this time. He was gone; he was really gone.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut as McCann’s words came back to him. He almost sat up but then collapsed back, groaning in agony as his body protested violently. He lay there, panting through the waves of pain. He sobbed. “Danny. Shit Danny, I’m so sorry.”

He understood, really understood everything Danny had said to him now. He remembered McCann’s evil, suggestive touch, he remembered the feeling of sickening violation for all the assault had been technically very minor. And what his reawakening memories had revealed of his own encounter with McCann lasted mere seconds… last time Danny had been subjected to McCann’s psychological torture for _hours_. And this time…

And it was Steve’s fault. He had let down his guard, he had been overpowered somehow, for all that part of events was still a gaping black hole in his mind. He had been the lure that they used to bring Danny in. They had even used his voice, stolen it. He shook his head, remembering the small hand-held device that had replicated his voice so perfectly.

Danny had come to help him. And now Danny was gone. Danny was with McCann.

Steve felt the specter of McCann's breath on his face and the lurid way in which his fingers had pandered across his chest. He shuddered violently, remembering the feeling of helplessness. The primeval sense of the man’s raw power. His dominance and desire for absolute ownership. McCann didn't even want him and Steve still felt the personal invasion.

Danny had fared okay after Spenser McCann's first damned visit to the Island. But only after Steve had forced his partner to open up and get certain things off his chest. Just a few long weeks ago, Danny had sworn nothing had happened between himself and the band's commanding officer. A few stray, illicit touches ... a rude parting kiss with a promise to return.

Yet those not so simple nothings had left an indelible mark on Danny's psyche.

And now McCann had him again. And what would have happened to him already? With the amount of time which had passed, it could already be too late to prevent McCann raping Danny - he’d made it damn clear that was his intention.

Speculative images assaulted Steve and he heaved in a shuddered breath when his body argued his forgetfulness to breathe. Pain lanced across his abdomen.

"God, Danny. I'm so sorry." Steve kept his eyes closed behind the safety of his arm, only his lips moving as he whispered his pleas. "Hang on, buddy. The team is coming ... we'll find you. Just _hang_ on."

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is NOT one author to this chapter - or to any chapter - WHY A03 is saying that now, is beyond any single one of us! This chapter might be deleted if we can't find out what is going on in order to be fair to each of the co-authors involved. Decision is a pending a discussion in progress!!!

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Danny opened his eyes, slowly and with a lazy fluttering of his lashes. He tried to focus on unfamiliar surroundings.

His mouth was as dry as dust and he coughed uncomfortably. He was in a big, soft bed, he realized. Unaccountably fuzzy, he lay there quietly for a time just staring at a large floor to ceiling window partially hidden by elaborate vertical blinds.  The blinds were a soft ivory color and swayed to an odd circulation of cold air, which he blearily attributed to the air conditioning being set on high. Every so often, they'd move just enough where he could see a dim sparkle of blue sky.

He was alone in the room. Unable to get his bearings, Danny frowned. He shivered first at the black hole in his memory and then because of a very real feeling of being cold to the bone. It slowly dawned on him that he was naked. Confused, he fumbled for the covers to shield himself from the chill of the room.

But as he shifted his legs, a spike of raw pain traveled up through his ass. Reaching automatically to investigate with shaking fingers, Danny felt ice flood his veins as he made contact with tender, swollen, sticky skin.  _No_. That couldn’t be right…. A dangerous whisper floated through his brain and he swallowed hard. Every part of him hurt and there had to be a reason for that, and for what he could feel.

It all began to come back. Spenser McCann's voice. His touch... naked skin. The rancid smell of whiskey. Of sweat.  _Of sex_....

Bile rose to the back of Danny’s throat as the truth hammered home. He'd been raped. Multiple times. Repeatedly taken through the evening hours and into the night by a monster who appeared to be insatiable.

Whimpering in distress, he scrambled to get out of the bed, needing to get away… but a vivid memory leaked to the surface and he lost touch with his surroundings, his body. A close up view of beige carpet. The feel of the luxuriant pile beneath his grasping fingers as he fought to breathe past the crushing weight of the man who blanketed his back, cock once more sheathed to the hilt as he thrust painfully into Danny’s abused hole.   

Danny’s eyes drifted to his own wrists. He saw bruising there, the purple and red marks the traces of McCann’s tight grip. He'd been repeatedly restrained by the stronger man for all the drugs that had been forced periodically into him during the night had prevented him fighting back at all.

_He'd been raped._

His mind seemed to stutter to a halt, to  _freeze_ , looping that one fact over and over again and he just couldn’t  _breathe_.

Gasping frantically, he looked up and realized he had moved. He found himself huddled in the corner of the room without even knowing how he got there, back to the wall, arms around his knees, trembling from head to foot in complete and utter shock.

His head was still swimming with the residue of the drugs McCann had used to prevent him physically fighting back as he ‘broke in his pet’. Everything  _hurt_ and he felt so dirty. Filthy. He  _was_  filthy. He could feel the tight pull of drying fluids all over his body.

His last memory of the night before had been being raped yet again. McCann had been inside him when he had finally, blessedly passed out, and the memory of the man's cold gaze, pupils blown wide as he pounded Danny relentlessly, mercilessly, was suddenly ever-present whether Danny’s eyes were open or closed, a wallpaper to his very existence.  

“Good boy,” he had whispered, “Good boy, Danno,” and the words echoed in Danny’s mind now they’d come back to him.

He looked around in sudden panic, fearing he was hearing the words for real,  _now_ … but McCann was nowhere to be seen.

_He'd been raped._

The door cracked open without warning and Danny started, panting in fright, heart beating at a hundred miles an hour. He looked around frantically for a weapon but the room was sparsely furnished and there was nothing, just nothing. He murmured wordlessly in distress, watching as the door slowly opened wider, knowing he should jump to his feet and get in a defensive position… but his body just wouldn’t co-operate.

He looked up in utter dread at the figure that stepped through the door… but it wasn’t McCann. It was someone else entirely- a huge, dark-skinned man, shaven-headed and built like a bull. Danny simply stared, mouth open, waiting for  _something_  to kick in; his temper, his not-inconsiderable ninja skills… but his mind seemed to have checked out.

_He’d been raped._

The stranger snorted in derision, his expressionless face showing no reaction to Danny’s condition whatsoever, then his hand moved abruptly. Danny flinched backwards, then blinked in confusion as a towel hit the floor beside him.

“He wants you to take a shower,” the man rumbled, his deep voice betraying little. The neutral English accent was good but a touch stilted… he could have come from virtually anywhere. “There are clean clothes for you in the bathroom… your things are gone. You’ll wear what he says. You’ll do whatever he says, too. Breakfast’s nearly ready.”

Danny stared at him dumbly.  The man knew. He knew what had happened to him, he had to… and now he was expected to wash and dress and  _eat_  like nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all? Like everything was normal?  It was  _surreal_. It was fucking bizarre.

“Now! Hurry up. The bacon will be burning.”

In a total daze, Danny pushed himself hesitantly upwards, an edge of the towel wadded in his fist, bracing himself against the wall as the room seemed to spin around him.  Vertigo forced him to close his eyes and he fought through the nauseating feeling, dragging the bath towel haphazardly around his waist before committing to move.

Again, the big man snorted in apparent disgust, but waited patiently as Danny staggered slowly towards him before walking ahead towards the bathroom, blindly obeying because he simply had no idea what else to do right then. Playing for time- he was playing for time, he told himself. Waiting for an opportunity. That was all. He wasn’t broken, McCann hadn’t broken him. No way.

Danny moved slowly, leaning against the wall the whole way, eyes darting to and fro as he took in his situation. He saw what had to be the door  _out._ He saw the two armed men standing in front of it, eyes firmly on him, fingers poised by the triggers  of their assault rifles. He saw the huge living room, bright and luxuriously, tastefully furnished. He caught sight of the view outside the window….

They were high up, towering over the surrounding cityscape. But it was Honolulu.  _They were still on Oahu_. The knowledge gave him a flush of hope.

“In here.” The towering man stood back and let Danny into the bathroom, where the shower was already running. “There’s sanitary towels beside the clothes. Don’t want you bleeding on the furniture.”

Danny stood, staring at him, blinking at his words.

“And no, there’s nothing you can use as a weapon in there. We’re not stupid. Sort yourself out and come through.”

With that the door closed behind Danny and the steam from the running shower began to build up. With a burst of adrenaline, Danny began to tear the place apart. He needed something,  _anything_  he could use as a weapon.

But McCann’s guard dog had been right. No razors, no scissors. There wasn’t even a mirror he could smash. A bar of soap, a sachet of shampoo, a face cloth. Towels, boxers, a dressing gown and sanitary pads. That was it. It was a wet room- no shower screen to shatter, no ceramic bath to try to destroy. Just white marble walls, a marble floor. He hobbled to the sink and the toilet, ran his hands over them. Cold hard marble. He’d never manage to smash them. The toilet’s cistern was behind the wall somewhere- no metal rods to rip off of the ballcock.

They really did know what they were doing.

Jesus Christ _._   _He wasn’t the first._

In a daze, mind now stalled entirely, he stepped under the spray of the shower as he’d been instructed. He watched the water as it spiraled down the drain, now stained red. His jaw dropped- what the hell was he doing? He was destroying the forensic evidence of the assaults! He was a cop, he couldn’t do that! Victims always wanted to do that. They felt dirty, wanted to shower. You had to stop them till the medical examination was complete. He’d explained that to a hundred victims before. He was no different.

He stepped out of the stream of water, suddenly shivering in spite of the warmth of the room. He looked down at his feet, absently watching the blood dripping steadily on the white marble floor between his heels.

Dirty. They had all said they felt ‘dirty’. Yes, he understood. Always had, so he thought anyway… but now he  _really_  understood. He  _was_  dirty.

The hands he touched his children with- he’d touched himself where he hurt the most with those and they were streaked with blood and semen. His body… the body Rachel and Gabby and Amber had kissed… it was filthy, now claimed by McCann as his own possession. Littered with sticky residues, with bites, with bruises. Nearly in a panic, his mind raced through the inane and then the logical, but it refused to stay on any one thing for more than a millisecond. 

There was a non-descript sound outside the bathroom and Danny started, panting in fear, eyes wide,  _positive_  that McCann was coming - that he'd burst into the bathroom at any moment. Minutes passed though and no one came.

But McCann would be back, he  _knew_  that.

Danny blinked stupidly at his damaged wrists while another terrifying thought jumped out at him.  God, the bastard hadn’t even used condoms. He could have infected Danny with…  _anything_!

That was it. All other thoughts went out of his head and he  _had_  to try to get clean. He  _had_  to get the vestiges of McCann's filthy, diseased touch off him. He stepped under the jet of water and lifted the soap. He began to scrub. Harder and harder, using the facecloth… but that wasn’t  _enough_ and he dropped it, began to rub with his fingers, digging in his nails, trying to get everything off. Harder and harder, until he was scratching his skin, making himself bleed, but he just  _couldn't_  get it off, he couldn’t get the feeling of McCann’s hands, his mouth, his dick, off any single part of him.

“No.  _Fuck_!” He sobbed open-mouthed, then turned and punched the hard stone wall over and over again, until blood burst from his knuckles and dripped down the wall.

An uncontrollable sense of panic flooded him. He had nowhere to go; no place to hide, no means to protect himself.  None of his professional training had ever prepared him for something like this. Nothing. And really, what ever could?

Surrounded by evil, those he loved in constant danger, and consumed by an ever increasing desperation, Danny vaguely understood that he was in shock. His self-deprecating attempt at a mocking snort echoed inside the bathroom like a cracked sob, fading to nothing within the louder spray of hot water which continued to beat down on him.

Desolate, he turned to lean against the wall and then slid down, sitting under the jet of water with his arms around his knees, trembling violently.

And just like that his mind went to an vision of the person he wanted to see most right then, swooping to the rescue with a beaming smile in that infuriating way he had. Steve. But they’d shot him. He could be  _dead._

The tears finally started then, lost instantly in the hot water of the shower. 

 

**_~ to be continued ~_ **

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A03! ARGH! Yes, all of you kind readers KNOW this ... but once again, there's NOT one author to this chapter - or to any chapter - WHY A03 is continues to insist this though, is an ongoing bit of annoyance.

  
**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

   
Steve couldn't stay where he was, it was as simple as that.

He might be hooked up to machines and drips, drugs coursing through his system. His injury, and the necessary damage caused by the subsequent repairs to his body might mean he should stay right where he was for days yet, more likely longer still… but he _had_ to leave. He _had_ to help with the efforts to find Danny and rescue him from the clutches of Spenser McCann. Screw medical advice, screw the combination of horror and disbelief on his doctor’s face when he’d told the guy he couldn’t stay. Yeah, so he’d be going AMA… but he still _had_ to go.  
   
No one was going to help him achieve his foolhardy goal, he knew he was on his own on that one. It made no difference. Danny needed him. His legs twitched, preparing for action before he was once again whipping the sheets aside in another attempt to get out of bed. It was never going to work- he knew that on some level, for all in his desperation some logical part of his brain told him that. But he had to at least _try_ ….  
   
He’d no sooner tensed his muscles in preparation than crippling pain in his gut stopped him dead and he fell back, beaten, growling in fury at his own weakness. Head flopping back against his pillow, Steve squeezed his eyes shut, moaning in frustration. He’d have to rest. Gather his energy before making another attempt.  
   
As he lay there, waiting out the spasming waves of pain and nausea, the conversation he had just had with Kono replayed in his mind. She’d left not five minutes earlier and would no doubt be as horrified as his doctor at his current intended course of action.  
   
She’d come to check on him - the team all wished they could be by his side, of course - and to update him on the terrifying lack of progress they had made. While she was there, now he could actually stay awake for more than two minutes at a time, she’d taken a detailed statement from him about the horrific course of events at his house.    
   
Repeating McCann’s words, describing his actions - it had to be done. The team had to know every last thing. If McCann was fortunate enough to survive when they finally got their hands on him, they needed every scrap of evidence they could pull together to make sure the bastard never saw the light of day again. Steve’s statement was an important part of that - the written account of the testimony he might one day give in court. With his story in black and white, no details would be forgotten as time passed and, if he somehow died in the interim, his statement would live on to help condemn McCann.  
   
But fuck it had hurt, saying it all out loud, and he hadn’t missed the anguish Kono had done her very best to hide from him.  
   
As he lay there, helpless in his hospital bed, his rage and frantic worry peaked to simultaneous new highs. Though, being realistic, he knew he likely couldn't do much more if he got outside the confines of Tripler's walls, being trapped like this was slowly killing him inch by terrible inch and he yearned to be at the office, his finger on the pulse. He was hurt and sick, yet clock watching and forcing himself to remain awake so he'd not miss a call or visit from HPD or the team.  
   
He was positively _seething_ over INTERPOL’s ignorance, or willful deceit, or whatever. That anger had joined the disturbing visions of McCann and frantic concern over Danny that had plagued him like a broken record since he emerged from his drug-induced slumber. _Fucking_ INTERPOL! He could cheerfully strangle Agent LaRouche.  
   
They'd withheld vital information. More worried about trying to salvage their reputation and mission, they were being entirely too silent about what they knew about Danny. Steve could appreciate the sanctity of a covert operation; but he more appreciated bringing every man home - alive.  
   
"Bullshit," he muttered angrily under his breath, unsure which part of the clusterfuck of a situation he was even referring to. “This is bullshit.” He closed his eyes, their burn almost as insurmountable as the pain in his gut since he was intentionally accepting only minimal doses of pain killer despite his doctor's perturbed advice. That would be just the start of his rebellion - his desperate plan to go against medical advice and get the hell away from there so he could help Danny would come next if he had any say in it. But Steve needed to do something! He couldn’t just lie there, contributing nothing, speculating wildly about what Danny was going through that very moment.  
   
Shaking his head at the futility of his efforts, he braced himself for yet another attempt to move.  
 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny was left undisturbed in the bathroom for long enough for him to pull himself the fuck together. 

He still felt numb to the core and sore as hell… but his emotional meltdown had released enough of the fear, tension and bone-deep shock his ordeal had left him with to clear his head and allow him to focus his thoughts. He was alive therefore there was hope. Now he had to concentrate - he had to survive, he had to get _out_.  
   
The rest- what had been done to him- he had to put it to one side, deal with it once he was safe again. And Steve… _fuck_ , it was a million times harder to put _that_ to one side, but the gnawing, heart-twisting fear for his best friend that rattled around inside him wouldn’t help anyone right then. He had to take a leaf out of Steve’s book and compartmentalize. His partner would be proud of him, he realized, before shutting down that train of thought too, fast.  
   
Brain slowly re-engaging, he thought through what he needed to do.  
   
He had to try to get the lay of the land - work out exactly where he was, work out exactly what security measures McCann had put in place to keep him where he was. He had to get a weapon and get away. Or at least get hold of a phone - that would do, that would be enough. Even if he didn’t know where he was, the team could trace his call.  
   
The one thing he couldn’t do was hide in a freaking bathroom which didn’t even have a lock on the door. What was the point in that?  
   
Not even letting himself think about what he was doing, or the pain he was in, or the injuries he could see on his body, he dried and dressed in the boxers and gown. He hesitated over the sanitary towel because the whole concept was so fucked up on so many levels, but his instructions had been clear and picking a fight over something as small and irrelevant was senseless.  
   
When he was done, he stood straight, looked at the barrier of the door and paused, pulling the gown tight around himself. There was no belt - he could have used that against them - of course there was no belt. He pressed an arm to his belly, holding the toweled garment closed.  
   
Teeth gritted, he reached for the handle and opened the door, resolving hurriedly to show no weakness.  
   
There was an armed man waiting for him outside the door and he blinked at the cold, unfamiliar face then down at the muzzle of the gun. A SIG-Sauer P232 handgun, he noted, as the weapon jerked towards a door on the far side of the hall.  
   
He nodded slightly in understanding, hobbling in the direction indicated.  
   
Danny felt a brief flare of adrenalin, aching to get his fingers on the weapon held a mere five feet behind him - but the guy was good and aware, keeping his distance, staying sharp. He’d have to bide his time.  
   
He thought about the gun as he limped towards an open doorway, the smell of bacon wafting strong in the air. His team’s research, coupled with INTERPOLs findings, had proved McCann’s men preferred the Heckler  & Koch MP5K’s assault rifles as their general weapon of choice.  Nonetheless, no doubt this smaller handgun was simply more efficient inside a small space. The silencer it was equipped with certainly enough to minimize its noise should McCann’s man be required to use it. So where were they that such a measure might be deemed necessary?      
   
Danny glanced sidelong through a window as he passed, and realized with a jolt that he knew _exactly_ where he was.  
   
They were high, really high, towering over what Danny had recognized to be downtown Honolulu. There was only one structure that tall - the Meridian Hotel. They had to be right up the top, in the penthouse suite. Danny gaped at the sheer arrogance of McCann and his team setting up shop right there, right in the center of everything, instead of out in the sticks in the middle of nowhere. It was insane. Who the hell would think of looking for them somewhere like this?! No one, he realized with a shock. That was the genius of it. McCann had them hidden in plain sight. He’d be able to see _The Palace_ if he looked out to the west.  
   
And he could have cried all over again, because he might be able to see the distant windows of the Five-0 offices, but the team would never be able to see him - the Meridian was mirrored from street level clear to the top. No one could see in. The windows wouldn’t even be designed to open that high up - there would be no way to try to signal short of smashing through the reinforced glass.  
   
Feeling dazed, he just barely took in the two armed figures still in position at the front door before he found himself in a sleek, well-appointed kitchen, standing beside a smooth, white kitchen table, staring at an empty plate, complete with flimsy plastic cutlery.  
   
A brusque ‘ _sit_ ’ from his charm-free escort made it clear what was expected of him.  
   
Tugging the robe higher around him as he was roughly pushed towards a chair, Danny stumbled forward before awkwardly sinking down with a barely stifled groan. The big man who had escorted him to the bathroom earlier was bustling around the kitchen, humming an off-key tune, and appeared rapidly at his shoulder, deftly flipping bacon, eggs and waffles onto the plate from a pan. A glass of orange juice appeared a few seconds later.  
   
Danny stared down at it, then looked up at him. The man flicked his gaze to his armed colleague, who nodded then exited the room in silence, then walked slowly around the table before sitting down opposite Danny. Danny followed his movements, then made himself meet the man’s eyes when they rested on his own.  
   
“I-I’m Detective Danny Williams of the Five-0 task-force,” Danny rasped, hating the way his voice wavered. “I-I need… I need a cell. I-I can help you. I can speak to the governor, get you immunity… I…”  
   
“Save your breath,” snapped the huge man with a look of utter distain.  
   
Danny stared at him. “Y-you don’t understand. M-my partner, he was shot, I n-need to go, I need….”  
   
The guy moved so fast Danny barely saw it, and the next moment he had Danny by the front of the gown and he’d hauled him up right into his face.  
   
“YOU… you need to do what you’re told!” he growled, vibrating with fury. Then he seemed to take a breath. He released Danny and stepped back. He turned away for a few moments, muttering to himself, before sitting back down. “Eat, drink, then I have medicine to give you. Painkillers, anti-biotics and anti-inflammatories. And you can call me Leon.”  
   
Danny almost laughed, because the name was so unsuited to the guy. It conjured an image of some middle-class English business man, not this giant brute of a mercenary’s whore. But he suppressed the reaction, nodding instead. This was a chance right here- a chance to try to personalize things, to try to encourage the guy to see him as a human being not just McCann’s latest piece of stolen property. A chance to try to make the guy give a shit.  
   
“Leon… o-okay. I’m… I’m Danny. I…”  
   
But it was a forlorn hope. “I know exactly who you _were_ ,” Leon cut in with a growl, his emphasis on the past tense positively chilling. “But now you’re _his_. You need to do what he says.”  
   
Trying to think past the numbness swimming through his mind, Danny forced a couple of forkfuls of food in his mouth as he sat there under the watchful scrutiny of the giant hulk. The food felt wrong in his mouth, tasted like nothing. He swallowed it down, trying his best not to bring it back up before trying again to get through to his appointed baby-sitter.  
   
“I-I can get protection for you… if you h-help me?” Cursing himself as his voice continued to shake and each word came out on as a breathy stutter, Danny’s words soon waned as Leon simply shook his head with a firm finality.  
   
“Okay, here’s the thing, _Danny_. McCann and Walker, they always have their toys. If you go they’ll just replace you. Why add another fucking victim to the list? You’re a cop. You can take it. Suck it up and deal. He’s too good. No one’s gonna find you. And you know what? The threats he makes against your family - he really means it. Listen to him. I’ve seen this all before. Fight him and he’ll hurt you in every way you can imagine. Respect him, do whatever the fuck he tells you to, and he’ll treat you fairly.”  
   
Danny’s jaw dropped. “ _F-fairly_?” he gasped indignantly. “Do you even know what he _did_ …”  
   
Leon’s face twisted into an incredulous sneer. “Of course I fucking do!” he hissed. “Who the hell do you think had to scrub all that fucking stuff off the carpet after he’d finished with you? The blood and the spunk I’m used to but you had to puke too? That was fucking fantastic. Now shut the fuck up and eat. You’re going nowhere, toe the line and you might just survive.”  
   
Danny stared at him, disbelieving that anyone could be so cold.  
   
Leon showed no remorse as he got up and clattered dishes around in the sink. He wasn’t going to help. He didn’t care at all. But maybe, just maybe he might at least give Danny a little information.  
   
“M-my partner. D-do you know if he’s… if he made it?” Danny tried. “Please… I need to know. Please.”  
   
He was wasting his breath. It was like talking to a brick wall. Leon ignored him completely and kept right on stomping around the kitchen, clearing up, occasionally glaring, apparently unimpressed by the fact Danny wasn’t eating.  
   
Hefting out a resigned sigh the big man turned and handed him a couple of pills. Danny eyed them suspiciously, but he recognized the marks on them and took them hesitantly, dry-swallowing them down. Painkillers and anti-biotics, yeah… he needed those. He could see that.  
   
Nodding brusquely in acknowledgement of his obedience, Leon then pointed at a box sitting on the table near Danny. Danny stared, he hadn’t even noticed the thing before.  
   
“McCann left you a gift. Go, take it. Brush your teeth then go back into the bedroom to wait for him. The boys will be watching every step so fucking behave.”  
   
The next moment, Leon was on his cell, bitching to some unknown freaking person. “I get the fucking shittiest jobs," he said, "babysitting the fucking wank-toys.”  
   
The surreal nightmare was showing no sign of abating. Having no idea what else to do right then, Danny picked up the box with shaking hands and beat a retreat, side-eyeing the armed guard and the windows-that-didn’t-open as he went. He hobbled back to the bathroom and shut the door firmly, wishing there was a fucking lock on it. He sat down, perched awkwardly on the edge of the toilet, and looked down at the little box in his hands. There was a card attached and he turned it over to read it.  
   
_You might want to use this today. It will make things easier on you later. There’s always a little swelling after the first time._  
   
Danny unwrapped the box with shaking fingers, then stared open-mouthed at the contents. A dildo. Short and thin, the rubber an innocuous shade of sky blue. He dropped it on the floor and barely managed to stagger to the sink before the few bites of food he’d got down came right back up again.  
   
Swiping his fist against his mouth, his bruised knuckles were tender against his lips as he choked and coughed back another surge of hot bile. He couldn’t take any more of this, he couldn’t!  
   
Eyes watering liberally, he looked up slowly, taking in the toothbrush that had been placed on the side of the sink for him to use.  
   
Then something clicked. He reached for the toothbrush, gripped it firmly in both hands and snapped off the head. He threw the bristled end down the toilet and flushed, then held up what was left in front of his face. Gaze fixed on the broken end, he ran a finger down the sharp edge he’d created on the hard plastic.  
   
He _wasn’t_ going to take any more.  
   
McCann _wasn’t_ going to touch him again.  
  
_**TBC**_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter co-authored by IC and Swifters.
> 
> Thank you for the nice comments, we really appreciate the feedback xx  
> Warning- this chapter gets kind of nasty... remember those tags.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

They hadn’t noticed. He’d kept the toothbrush- his improvised weapon- and they hadn’t even noticed.

Danny sat on the floor in the corner of the bedroom, back pressed to the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. The position felt forced, like it would be suspicious as hell, but this way his hands could both be in plain sight. Sitting there with one hand behind his back would give him away a mile off.

He shifted uncomfortably. Every part of him hurt. Every part of his body screamed at him, trying to remind him what had happened. He shut it all out. He had no choice. He couldn’t let himself think about it, not yet, because right now he needed to be strong. He needed to think clearly. He needed to get the fuck out of there.

Several hours had passed since he’d made his weapon, so he thought anyway. As the effects of the drugs had gradually worn off, his ability to think had steadily returned. Now escape was his sole focus.

He hadn’t found an easy solution in McCann’s continued absence. He was only permitted in one bedroom and one bathroom, and the short route in between. He wasn’t in the master, clearly, and in fact his room most likely wasn’t even intended to be a bedroom at all, or it would have had an en-suite in a plush penthouse like this. No, they’d picked the room carefully, given him no fittings, no furniture other than the bed. Nothing he could potentially use against his captors. The choice of the wet room made sense from that point of view as well.

And for all he was permitted to move between those two rooms, the armed guards were completely vigilant. Leon, his out-sized babysitter, seemed to have a sixth sense, seemed to just know where he was all the time. They were all focused on _him_.

He used the limited freedom he had to appraise his situation as best he could, hobbling slowly to the bathroom and back, heart in his mouth lest McCann appear. He hadn’t seen a phone- the men were using cells and keeping them with them at all times as far as he could tell. He had peered out the windows. Although no one would be able to see him thanks to the mirrored exterior, and they didn’t open... they might provide a way out of sorts if things got beyond desperate. He could maybe smash the toughened glass somehow. Jump through it. He’d die, of course.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Danny could only see one way right then to give himself a chance. He was going to have to do his damndest to kill McCann and pray he could escape the man’s entourage in the chaos that ensued.

He slid a hand beneath his thigh again, reassuring himself the makeshift weapon he’d been keeping so carefully hidden was still there. It was. He let out a shaky breath. Listening carefully first, he pulled it out, looking closely at the sharp point he’d created when he had snapped that toothbrush just so. It would work as long as he thrust it into McCann square on- it wouldn’t be sharp enough to slash with. He’d have to go for somewhere soft and fleshy- the bastard’s eye would be best. Or his throat, right at the jugular. His stomach would have less of an instant effect and might not actually kill him… but it would be better than nothing.

It was bloodthirsty, it was like nothing he’d ever contemplated doing in his life before- somehow less civilized than using a gun. Using a gun felt one step removed from the act of violence. This was… primitive. But what else was he meant to do? He couldn’t escape, he couldn’t bargain his way out. And he couldn’t go through another night like the last one. Not now. Not ever.

He shuddered as images from his hours of hell tried to push their way to the fore-front of his mind. He forced them back. He couldn’t let that happen, not yet.

Just then he heard movement outside and shut down his wandering thoughts, hurriedly concealing his weapon again. He rested his head back against the wall, feigning sleep, praying that, if it was McCann, the bastard would walk right over to him, maybe crouch down in front of him. That would do nicely.

The door opened.

“Hello, Danno.”

The hated voice sent chills up his spine, made his gut wring tight. He desperately tried to suppress the shiver that ran clear through his body because he needed to play this cool.

McCann laughed, and it was a cold laugh. Fuck, that wasn’t good.

“I know you’re awake, Danny. Open your eyes. You’ve been a bad, bad boy.” The sound of a gun being cocked followed on the heels of the mocking words.

Fear rising exponentially, Danny did as he was told, teeth suddenly chattering. He gritted them together, unwilling to show just how scared he really was. He raised his head, met McCann’s eye. The man’s face was the epitome of fury.

“You’ve made me angry, Danny,” he growled. “I’ve been nothing but good to you and you’ve been very, very bad. You didn’t accept my present, I hear?”

Danny didn’t answer. He was breathing hard through his nose, fighting to retain his composure. McCann took a step closer and an answering burst of adrenaline coursed through Danny, adding fire to his blood. He could do this. He _wanted_ to do this. He needed to kill the dirty son-of-a-bitch more than he needed oxygen.

 _C_ _’_ _mon_ , Danny thought. _Come right over here. Try to shoot me in the head, you bastard. Point blank… you know you want to._

“I tried to do something nice, something considerate for you…” McCann moved another step closer as he spoke, and another.

_C_ _’_ _mon. I_ _’_ _m gonna kill you. C_ _’_ _mon._

One more step. One more and Danny could lunge for McCann’s gut. He might get shot in the head for his trouble, but Jesus it was a risk he was willing to take. _Please please please._

But McCann stopped where he was, levelled the gun between Danny’s eyes.

_No, no, come closer! Don’t shoot me from there!_

“And not only did you reject my thoughtful present… you’re also trying to insult my intelligence this very minute,” McCann hissed, teeth bared in pure aggression.

Danny’s head jerked up, eyes wide. What did he mean? He couldn’t know… could he? A bead of sweat ran down his face as he met McCann’s furious eyes. McCann moved the gun, pointed the muzzle at the light-fitting above them before sighting it right back on him. “Do you really think I would leave you alone without cameras on you every second of the day?”

Danny’s jaw dropped. _Fuck_.

“Leon!” McCann yelled. “Get in here and take it off him.”

Then McCann stepped back, way out of Danny’s reach. He stood aside, gun still trained on the blond man as Leon came in and grabbed his arm, yanked him away from the wall.

In complete desperation, Danny still grabbed his weapon, still slashed out towards his nemesis. But a quick boot to his gut from Leon as he moved felled him, the lingering effects of the assaults he had endured dragging down his usual resilience. He collapsed forwards onto his stomach, gasping for breath, his toothbrush still held out in front of him.

McCann stepped towards and stood on his hand, grinding the heel of his shoe into soft flesh until Danny could hear his bones grinding together. He grunted in pain and could do nothing, literally nothing, as Leon wrested the fragmentary remains of the toothbrush from between his fingers.

The instant McCann lifted his foot Danny scrambled backwards, back to his corner, but he wasn’t cowering now. He pushed himself to his feet, legs slightly apart, knees bent. He raised his hands, ready to defend himself as best he could. His plan might have been blown to hell but no way was he going down without a fight.

McCann watched him, eyebrows raised. He began to pace the room, slow and deliberate. “Now you know I admire your robust character, Danny… but you’ve gone too far. You’re going to pay for this. You’ve been a very, very bad boy. I need you to make amends, right now, or there will be serious consequences.”

The mercenary halted and turned to the detective. He bared his teeth, simmering fury radiating from him. “This is what you’re going to do, Danny. You’re going to apologise. When I need you to apologise, this time and every fucking time after this, I expect you to do it in a special way. I expect you to get on your knees in front of me, I expect you to open your mouth and I expect you to eat my come like a good boy.” He rubbed the heel of his hand against his crotch. “How about it, Danny? Can you be a good boy for me?”

Danny laughed, he couldn’t help it, even as his stomach recoiled in horror at the notion. “Fuck you! You have to be kidding me,” he rasped. “FUCK YOU!”

His eyes roamed the room frantically, looking in vain for a means of escape, a weapon, anything. His sight rested on the window and, just for a moment, he thought about launching himself at it, crashing through the glass McGarrett-style. But the fundamental need to survive was still thrumming through him, strong and demanding. He shifted his gaze to the open door, now blocked by the mountainous figure of Leon.

McCann stepped forwards into his line of sight. The predatory smile on the bastard’s face was the last straw.

Danny yelled out, ferocious and desperate, and launched himself at the mercenary. The attack had to have taken the man by surprise because Danny’s blow to his jaw had him staggering backwards. Danny didn’t stop to look back, he went straight for the door, punching out at Leon with a quick one-two to the gut and the face. And for all Danny was small he was a tough bastard. He made those punches count.

Leon doubled over and Danny grabbed at the huge man’s clothes, yanking him bodily out of the fucking way. He latched his fingers on the doorframe and hauled himself through it. Just the armed men and the front door to go….

But a figure stood before him, blocking his way, weapon drawn and leveled on him. Danny stumbled to a shocked halt. _Dylan Walker_. Danny hadn’t laid eyes on the man since he had been left half-dead at the airfield weeks earlier, but he hadn’t changed one iota. Dark hair, dark eyes which glistened with anger and a chiseled, handsome face made ugly by hate- the man was unmistakable.

As Danny stared at Walker, a gorilla-like arm wrapped around his neck from behind and started to squeeze. _Leon_ \- it was Leon! Kicking out, yanking desperately at the arm that held him, Danny tried to get free with every ounce of strength he could muster.

There was an annoyed growl in his ear, and one of Danny’s arms was grabbed by a huge hand with a grip like iron, yanked downwards then twisted high up his back.

He kept struggling, kept pulling at the arm around his neck with his one free hand, but he couldn’t breathe! His heart pounded in his ears as he fought uselessly and ever more weakly, gulping hopelessly for air. His vision blurred for a moment, consciousness wavering, body suddenly hanging lax. Then Leon’s hold on his neck must have loosened the tiniest amount because everything got a little clearer. Air was getting in. He hauled in oxygen, rasping breaths tearing at his abused throat.

When his vision began to clear it was to a terrifying scene. McCann was standing in front of him, arms folded. He was flanked by Walker and the armed guards from the front door. The chief mercenary’s lip was curled in fury. As Danny met his gaze, McCann drew back his fist.

The solid punch to the side of Danny’s head that followed was as predictable as the sun setting and the rain falling from the sky. Danny had rebelled as hard as he could in his weakened condition- he’d asked for it. He fell to the ground, released by Leon after the blow had landed to fall to the floor like his strings had been cut.

Gasping for breath, he lay groaning, the room spinning around him. Then everything started to move on a different axis altogether as he was dragged by his arms across the carpet, through to the living room, the room where McCann had first assaulted him hours earlier. He was dumped in a heap in front of a pair of desert boots, peppered with flecks of dry blood.

Danny looked up to see McCann and the armed entourage standing behind him. He looked no calmer than he had before.

“Have you forgotten what I said, Danny?” the mercenary growled furiously. “Have you forgotten what I said would happen if you defied me?”

And Danny frowned, even as he shook his ringing head to try to clear it, because maybe he had forgotten, maybe the abuse and the drugs and the shock and wondering if his best friend in the world was dead… maybe those things had blurred facts together for him. He stared at McCann, belligerent for all his situation was impossible.

He jumped as the TV sprang to life beside him. Deaf to McCann’s angry growl or the warning click of weapons, he stumbled to his feet, his entire focus solely on the image that appeared on the large panel screen.

It rapidly became clear why they had brought him through here.

“No!”  Danny whimpered softly at the first sight of his beautiful daughter sitting in the Edwards’ living room beside her mother, their faces so tense, so sad. Over him? Oh, God, or over Steve!

His eyes filled as Charlie ran over to the pair with the carefree ignorance that befitted his young years. There were two HPD officers in the room with them, sitting at the small table in the corner, legs stretched out as they kept watch. Danny blinked, shocked that McCann evidently had a camera hidden in his ex’s house, but relieved beyond words that there was police protection in place for his family.

McCann cleared his throat in theatrical fashion. “Now, your team aren’t stupid. They’ve got HPD looking after them. What they don’t realize is… I have men in HPD.”

Danny’s head jerked round to stare at McCann in utter horror. “What?” he breathed.

McCann pulled a cell out of his pocket with a wide, humorless smile and dialed a number, flicking the device to loudspeaker.

Danny whipped back round to the TV, jaw dropping as he saw one of the HPD officers pull out his own cell and answer it.

“Officer Davies, how are you today?”

Danny shook his head in denial as the officer turned and nodded surreptitiously towards the camera **.** It was up high, likely on the mantle above the fireplace or hidden in the frame to a painting. Hell, it really didn’t matter where it was, did it?  The fact of the matter was that McCann had been planning this from the very beginning and with his family in danger, Danny was wholly and irrevocably trapped.

_"Good, sir.”_

“Excellent. Our plans are changing somewhat thanks to Detective Williams’ lack of co-operation. I need you to bring Grace Williams to me immediately. Tell them… tell them one of the team wants to see her… lets say Officer Kalakaua. Tell them she said the others should stay where they are, that it will only take a few minutes.”

Danny shook his head harder, breaths now coming faster. This couldn’t be happening.

“No,” he murmured as an entirely new sense of claustrophobia fueled a panic so severe that his heart thundered inside his chest.

_"Yes, sir.”_

And Danny watched the screen in helpless horror as the HPD officer tucked away his cell then turned to mutter something to his colleague who nodded in apparent understanding. A brief conversation with Rachel followed. The Englishwoman looked concerned and pulled Charlie close in to her, but then nodded in agreement too. And, just like that, McCann’s mole was taking Grace’s hand, leading her away.

“No, no, no. You can’t, please!” Danny’s voice shook with fear and emotion because… just _no_!

“See, Officer Davies has been with HPD for years. Maybe you even know him? And he’s been looking after your family since we took you. They trust him implicitly. Why wouldn’t they? Clever, right?”

Danny was trembling, sweat running down his face. “S-stop him. Please. Leave her alone. LEAVE HER ALONE!”

McCann exhaled, long and slow. He started to pace the room slowly, walking around Danny, studying him closely. He stopped in front of him. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you one last chance. There will be no more warnings, let’s be clear about that. So Danny, be a good boy and get on your knees and suck my cock. You do it now and you do it good… or she comes here and _she_ does it and you can watch every single moment of it. She’s not my usual type… but I’ll make an exception. How about it Danny? What’s your choice?”

Danny whimpered in distress, face screwing up at the horrific image of his baby girl… and _McCann_. No, never, never could he let that happen. And McCann would. He could and he _would_. Danny knew that without a single doubt now. “J-Jesus… no, leave her alone. Please. I’ll, I’ll do anything.”

Dylan Walker stepped forward, clapping his hands together in apparent delight. “Fan-fucking-tastic. Can’t wait to see this. And I’ll even help you out, I’ll tell you what he likes. But remember- no biting!” He waggled his finger in Danny’s face for a few seconds. “If you bite, I’ll knock your fucking teeth out and then your beautiful, innocent, baby girl will have to suck him instead… and then I’ll fuck her, and then I’ll strangle her. Understand?”

Danny nodded, numb to his very soul. “Stop him, please,” he begged. “Davies- stop him. Please don’t take her, _please_!”

Walker glanced at McCann who smirked, then threw the phone to one of his men with a nod. “Tell him to take her on a nice trip to visit Danny-boy’s buddies. Get them to tell the girl some nice reassuring lies about how they’ll find her Daddy soon… then take her home again. They can even stop for ice cream on me! But tell him to standby for a return to the original plan if Detective Williams changes his mind about co-operating. Tonight, tomorrow. Any time in the future.”

Dylan Walker smiled a fucking horrible smile. “Come on then Danny-boy. On your knees in front of him, unzip his fly, take him out, then clasp your hands behind your back and open wide.”

Danny nodded in understanding. He was done, he was beaten. McCann held all the cards and Danny had no choice whatsoever but to comply. He really would do anything to protect the people he loved, it seemed. 

A silent tear ran down his cheek as he glanced again at the TV screen one final time. He moved his head, casting his gaze over the faces of McCann’s men. They were smirking with amusement, every last one of them. Well, except Leon. His face was blank and unreadable. As Danny met his eye, he looked away.

Then Danny looked into the eyes of McCann himself.

He held the icy glare for a fraction of a second before he simply couldn’t anymore, then he bowed his head down and looked at the carpet, completely and totally defeated. Uttering a silent prayer for his loved ones, Danny steeled himself. He took a deep breath then lowered himself, dropping to one knee, then the other, at the feet of his loathed abuser.

McCann said nothing at all. He was waiting, Danny could tell. Waiting to see Danny submit to him completely. And what else could he do?

Wishing he was dreaming, Danny reached towards McCann’s pants with shaking hands, trying not to think, trying not to let it be real in his mind, as he followed Walker’s instructions in total silence.

Dylan was right in there, watching close up **,** the twisted freak. “Goooood. That’s right. Get him out, then hands behind your back.”

He sneered as Danny’s fingers closed around McCann’s already-thickening member, as he pulled it free of the man’s underwear. Danny’s eyes were unfocused. He knew where his attention was supposed to be but he couldn’t look at the hardening dick in his hand, right in front of his face. He couldn’t admit this was happening. But, Jesus, he could _smell_ him. The stench of stale sweat and pre-seminal fluid combined with that horribly familiar aftershave to leave the reality of the situation pretty damn clear no matter how hard Danny tried to blank it out.

No warning, Walker’s focus shifted. He grabbed Danny by the throat, squeezing tight. 

Danny stared at him, breathing hard.

“And if you try any more shit like you did tonight again,” Walker hissed venomously, “if you try to harm a hair on my man’s head...  _I’ll_ get your little girl, _I’ll_ fuck her and I’ll make you watch. Then I’ll make _her_ watch while I blow your head off. And if you kill him? If you kill my Spense? I know you’d love to, I know that. But if you do, I’ll do all that to her but then maybe I’ll just keep her- I’ll be short of someone to share my bed, right? She’s real pretty. I’ll train her up good.”

Walker released his hold on him and blew out a long, calming breath. The wolfish sneer returned to his face. “Now, back to business. Hands behind your back and open wide. Lick whenever you get the chance, nice and sloppy and keen… but let him push right in, as deep as he likes. You’ll choke to start with but you’ll soon learn to suppress your gag reflex. It just takes practice.”

The laughter that rippled around the room at his expense echoing in his mind, Danny opened his mouth and screwed his eyes shut.

McCann pushed forwards without hesitation and Danny gagged almost instantly as the man shoved his long cock right into his throat and held himself there, fingers wrapping tight in Danny’s hair to keep him right where he wanted him.

Danny retched, totally unable to breathe. Every instinct screamed at him to grab the bastard and push him away, to get him the hell out of his mouth. He couldn’t. He had no choice but to take it. _For Grace_ he thought, and held himself still. Another tear spilled out, running down his cheek to join the spittle on his chin.

The mercenary groaned, long and loud. “Good boy,” he murmured victoriously, then he started to thrust.

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Co-Authored!!!

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny drifted. He was in the bed again, lying on his belly, head facing the window. He stared dully. It was dark out. He wondered if the stars were shining, or if clouds smothered the pinpricks of light.

His gaze shifted to a patch of beige wallpaper beside the window. Everything in the room was so pristine, yet there was a tiny rip in that wallpaper just beside the window, as though a bit of furniture had caught it but it had escaped notice. His eyes kept finding it, over and over. He had no idea why.

He looked at that tear intently again, trying to understand its appeal. It was a better thing to think about than his reality- maybe it was as simple as that. He was filthy again, achingly sore again, had been used again. He hadn’t been drugged this time… yet he hadn’t fought back. He had done exactly as he was told. Every single thing. Things he’d never dreamed of submitting to. But McCann had him right where he wanted him, the entirely real threat of Grace suffering through these very horrors enough to make him willing to sacrifice his very soul.

He moved his eyes by the smallest amount, took in his own arm, stretched out on the pillow beside his head. It looked bruised and bitten. It was trembling constantly. Tremors ran up and down his whole body, in fact. But he felt detached from it, felt... strangely peaceful, like he was floating.

He shook his head almost imperceptibly- he had to try to rediscover his focus, try to work out if there was a way out of this situation.

If he could contact the team somehow. Let them know McCann had moles in HPD. Let them know his kids weren’t safe. He didn’t let himself think about the fact it would be Chin, or Kono, or Lou he would need to speak to- not Steve, because Steve was injured, Steve could be dead. That would be a concept too far for his sanity to take right then.

He steered his thoughts carefully away from that particular minefield. So... how could he contact the team?

He needed access to a phone. Maybe an opportunity would present itself. It hadn’t yet... but maybe if McCann tired himself out with his deviant games and fell asleep, maybe Danny could check his pockets, get hold of his. But so far the bastard had just used him then left him, probably going off to sleep with his lover, Dylan Walker. Danny took a moment to wonder again at the nature of their relationship, that Walker could actively help him imprison Danny here, knowing what McCann was doing. It made no sense.

Danny shuddered, recalling Walker’s cold voice as it provided instruction so Danny could pleasure McCann just right. He could still feel McCann’s fingers in his hair, feel the eyes of every single person in the room on him as McCann fucked his mouth, making him gag, choking him, then making him swallow. He could still taste McCann’s saltiness. He could feel it inside him. He felt his face redden at the remembered humiliation, his stomach clench in renewed disgust.

But at least it hadn’t been Grace who was subjected to that. It was only him. He could take it to protect her. He’d just keep trying to blank it out, keep reality at a distance. Bide his time until an opportunity presented itself.

He heard the door creak open and told himself he should move, should turn to face whatever fate had in store next. It was just so hard to find the energy to move.

“Are you hungry, petal?”

It was McCann again. Danny shuddered instantly, echoes of the mercenary’s hands touching him all over before the man himself had taken more than a step into the room. Then he simply shook his head. The very thought of food turned his stomach.

The footsteps came closer. “Turn over. Lie on your back.”

Danny closed his eyes, wishing he was a million miles away, wondering if this might all magically disappear if he ignored it for long enough.

“Danno.” The low, ominous whisper was right beside him, now, McCann’s hot breath tickling his ear. “Have you forgotten yourself while you were sleeping? Have you forgotten about _Grace_?” The growled question brokered no argument.

Line drawn in the sand, McCann waited in silence.

Danny was sure of one thing…. he was entirely trapped. “N-no,” he stuttered, voice weak and hoarse. He braced himself, then turned his aching body over.

“Good boy,” McCann purred smugly. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Sit up, sit against me.”

Danny obeyed helplessly, sliding up the bed, feeling McCann’s arm go around his shoulder and _cuddle_ him into the mercenary’s side. Instinct shouted in Danny’s ear, told him to _attack_... but he couldn’t let himself. Even if he could get the better of him, the entourage were just outside. _Walker_ was just outside. He _had_ to bide his time. He had to.

“Now Danny, you must be hungry. I’m going to give you something to eat and you’re going to let me. Bite… and Grace will pay for it, make no mistake.”

Danny lay there, breathing hard, pillowed against McCann’s chest, shock and denial at the fact of his surreal and terrifying situation dominating his every thought.

So distracted was he that, for all McCann’s intentions had been virtually spelled out, he still gasped as fingers pried his mouth open and one pushed its way in. His hands automatically rose up to grasp at McCann’s arms. He tried to move his head, spit out the probing fingers as a reflex, but a warning growl from McCann had him freezing… and then relenting.

“Put your hands down,” McCann whispered dangerously. “Down, petal. Keep your mouth open … don’t move. Don’t fight me, Danno, or you won’t like what comes next.”

 _Grace. For Grace._ He kept his mouth open, heart pounding at a hundred miles an hour, hands now fisted in his lap.

The finger pushed in, pressed on his tongue, rubbed around his teeth, taunting the fact he wasn’t allowed to bite. A second one joined it and he gagged as they delved deeper, towards the back of his throat. McCann was testing him, pushing him, working out the limits of the control the bastard’s tactics had provided him with. Danny knew it… but he was trapped. Out-maneuvered and helpless.

 _Steve_ … he desperately needed Steve to come help him, come storming to the rescue, come save the day like he always did. The thought leaked through before he could stop it and a lump rose in Danny’s throat, big enough to choke him by itself even as a third thick finger entered his mouth. He coughed, almost moved his head, but corrected himself at the last instant.

McCann chuckled a satisfied chuckle that made Danny want to slit the man’s throat, then the fingers withdrew. Danny lay frozen, head against McCann’s shoulder, mouth still hanging open.

“Good, good boy. You win some food.”

Danny’s eyes widened as he saw McCann’s free hand reaching out to the side. He traced the movement, saw him jam two fingers into a white china bowl on the bed beside them filled with what looked like freaking _guacamole_. The fingers lifted again coated in the pale green substance.

The hand moved towards Danny and he grimaced, expecting it to come straight to his mouth.

It didn’t. It passed him by, destined for McCann’s mouth, still by his ear. He heard the man spit and he closed his eyes, stomach rebelling in disgust at what the deviant was doing.

“You’re forgetting to watch, Danno,” McCann purred in his ear. “ _Look_ … open … take it.” Then those two long fingers were in front of his face. He stared, saw the globule of phlegm on the otherwise inoffensive food. He shook his head slowly.

McCann wrapped his free arm around Danny’s chest and tightened his grip. “Open," he whispered, then breathed into the blond man’s ear, long and soft.

Now panting hard, Danny opened his mouth.   The fingers pushed in, too far, way further than necessary. McCann delved deep in Danny’s mouth, smearing the spit-laden offering into every corner then gathering it back together and pushing it towards the gasping man’s throat. Hands buried in the bed sheets, Danny choked and gagged, eyes watering. His body shifted as he struggled with what was happening and his elbow inadvertently brushed against McCann’s groin, his solid erection. The man grunted with pleasure.

Danny froze in horror. McCann was getting off on this, this power play bullshit.

McCann licked his ear, then smacked his lips together, the wet sound only serving to exacerbate Danny’s growing nausea. “Now swallow, pet.”

Danny tried, he really did, but it was so disgusting his stomach was rebelling, bile rising in his throat. When Danny failed to instantly obey, the hand on his chest shifted fast, clamping down viciously on his nose and mouth. He couldn’t breathe! Danny flailed weakly, mewling deep in his chest as he force-swallowed the spit-laden offering, breathless and faint until Spense let up enough on his nose to garner some air.

“Good! Good boy. Now a little appreciation would be nice. A bit more enthusiasm. Does it taste good?”

It was fucking disgusting. Danny liked Mexican food just fine, but from that moment guacamole of all things was on his list of no-way-never foods, way above freaking ham and pineapple pizza. Guacamole meant lumpy and cold and tainted with the taste of McCann, the taste he was growing to _know_.

“Does it taste _good_?” McCann growled.

Danny nodded shakily.

"Good boy," Spense exclaimed, and Danny watched as he gouged his fingers back into the guacamole dip. "You’re learning quickly, yes? Did you know this is how mothers used to feed their babies, long ago? It's beautiful really. The epitome of selflessness and love.”

The fingers came back, once again via McCann’s own mouth. Danny opened his mouth, reached up for it, hating himself as he did so, almost as much as he hated freaking McCann.

“That’s better.” McCann crooned. “See Danny, I think you’re under the misapprehension that I’m going to let you lie there and take what I give you. That you can disappear off in your head and pretend I’m not really here, not really touching you. Not really fucking you. That’s not allowed. You’re mine. You’re going to accept you’re mine and you’re going to interact with me, give me everything I want. I expect you to show me you’re enjoying yourself, _whatever_ we’re doing together. I don’t care if you fake it. I just want you to do it. You _know_ what will happen otherwise. You _know_ who will pay the price if you defy me.”

He let Danny breathe for a moment, the blue eyes filled with unshed tears and staring blankly ahead in utter shame and disbelief.

"Now ... we're not done. Open. And this time suck my fingers clean.  Come on then, work for it. Lick it off me. Show me how much you like it. Swallow your food down like a good boy.” The bastard’s eyes shone as Danny complied.

“There, how does that taste, Danno?” he said, laughter in his tone.

Danny was barely suppressing the urge to vomit. _Grace. For Grace. Just for Grace._ He pushed out his tongue, licked the fingers clean. “S’good,” he choked out.

“ _That’s_ more like it, Danny. We’ll have you sucking my cock with that kind of enthusiasm in no time…” And McCann giggled as he plainly felt the ripple of shock that ran through Danny’s body at that off-hand statement.

Danny felt a kiss press to the top of his head. “Oh, you like that idea do you? Well you eat up and I’ll give you a real treat for your dessert, petal.”

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Hours later, Danny lay there in silence.

He didn’t move, there was no point. He closed his eyes, his face creased in distress, nausea just below the surface.

McCann had done tormenting him for the moment, had left him alone again. Still he didn’t move.

He’d had no opportunity to get hold of McCann’s phone, or do anything other than follow his depraved directions like an obedient dog. Now McCann had gone again, left the apartment with Walker on whatever business they had going on the island. Danny had been left with his baby-sitters again, and the instructions to shower and to use that fucking dildo to open himself up, ready for later. As part of his _dessert_ \- really as his ongoing lesson in obedience lest he forget in the future - McCann had used it on him and then left it inside him, so in the very least, Danny would have to remove the object at some point. He was torn and swollen down there. The thing fucking hurt.

Danny squeezed his eyes shut. It’s for _Grace_ , he reminded himself. And sooner or later he’d get his hands on a phone, surely. Get her and Charlie safe. _Then_ he could fight back. He couldn’t believe McCann had someone so close to them- it filled him with complete and utter horror.

He didn’t think he could feel any lower than he had the morning after he was first raped, yet here he was. He should have know it wouldn’t have been enough for McCann to simply assault him. The man wanted to control him, to dominate him. To _own_ him. And right then he had no choice but to play along.

His eyes automatically searched out that little flap of wallpaper again as he felt his control over his emotions wavering for a moment. The burst of relief when his eyes rested on it was ridiculous, yet totally real. It was almost triangular. Almost, but not quite. There was a hint of a fourth corner partway along the long side. Maybe he should get out of bed, rip off that corner, make the shape regular and more pleasing to the eye.

Maybe he was going fucking mad, abuse and mind games eating away at his sanity less than two days into his captivity.

Mind wandering aimlessly, Danny could hear the TV on in the living room, the muffled voices indistinct. It sounded like the news maybe. Then the volume was suddenly turned up. Danny jumped, enough wherewithal left in him to feel a measure of surprise because that volume had to be uncomfortably loud to anyone in the same room as the TV. But then he actually listened to the booming sound and he gasped out loud.

 

_“…sources from within the hospital state that Commander McGarrett’s condition is now stable and it’s thought he might be moving out of high dependency later today. Detective Williams’ whereabouts are still unknown and…”_

 

… and just like that the volume went down again.

For long moments Danny struggled to understand what he had just heard, but then the facts started trickling through. Steve. He was alive. _He was alive._ The relief was so great Danny felt tears pricking at his eyes. He bit his lip, hard, searching for his flap of wallpaper through blurred vision. Steve was _alive_.

But who had done that. Who had let him hear that, if indeed it had been deliberate? Not McCann, not Walker. Leon? Maybe. Whoever it had been, Danny was so fucking grateful for that small, small mercy he didn’t even know how to begin to measure it.

Steve was _alive_. Danny felt a million pound weight lift from his shoulders, a weight he’d been trying his very hardest to ignore. He closed his eyes, relaxed his body into the softness of the mattress.

He was now armed with the knowledge that all his loved ones were alive and would be safe just as long as he did as he was told… and it meant everything. As long as that remained the status quo, he could live with _this_.

McCann could do what he wanted to him. He’d take it all.

 

_**TO BE CONTINUED** _


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters.
> 
> THANK YOU, people who have left comments, we really, really appreciate every piece of feedback.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Steve levered himself carefully higher in the bed. He grimaced in pain as he pulled heavily on his surgical site despite every prudent move. Now that he was out of the ICU, he couldn't remain where he was; not with Danny missing and INTERPOL lax in both providing crucial details and sending qualified resources. He was done. Completely and utterly _done_.

"You need to stay another day or two, boss," Kono admonished him, her face tense and exhausted from the ongoing stress. "You're going to wind up right back upstairs in intensive care."

"Like hell I will," Steve growled angrily, a firm set to his jaw as he jockeyed his legs over the side of the bed to sit there, leaning heavily against the mattress. There was only one place  he was going, and that was out of the damn hospital. Hours had become days and he was officially done with waiting like a trapped rat as his team and HPD received the run-around.

"Steve." Kono's cautionary tone held no authority. "Wait at least one more day. Please."

Her expression did little to dissuade the man from swinging his legs off the bed to then stand, slightly hunched over at the shoulders . Her words did even less. Her eyes communicated so much more despite the stern attitude she tried to adopt when he gasped in pain, his complexion morphing from an alarming shade of paper-white to a worsening grayish-ash color. Kono opened her mouth, plainly angry and upset, only to slam it closed when he glared her way. Her fingers tapped repeatedly on her leg as she swayed in place, clearly torn between starting an argument and doing as he wanted.

Panting for breath, Steve challenged her to try to stop him with a glare he knew she didn't deserve. She was trying to protect him. But he had to help Danny. In the end, Kono merely wound up shaking her head at the futility of even trying to make her boss get back into bed as he fumbled with his hospital gown, a tie loosening quickly on one shoulder, followed by another.

He stared defiantly  at her again, daring her to stay while he stripped down to change into his clothes.

She groaned softly, shaking her head at him in frustration as he paused, one hand anchored to the thin material by his left bicep. Only the fingers of that hand were keeping it in place and his message was crystal clear.  Steve lifted his eyebrow just as he committed to pulling the gown off.

"Fine!" Kono muttered, turning just as the gown fell to the linoleum. "Fine, I'll get my car and park out front. I'll meet you there ... and for God's sake put clean clothes on. If I have to have your belligerent ass in my car the least you can do is not stink!" With that frustrated warning she threw a small duffel at her boss' feet and yanked the privacy curtain closed with one hand. He heard her stalk from the room. He should have felt bad. He would apologize in time for the way he had just behaved. Just not now, not yet.

Steve had lasted a bit more than three short days in the hospital. Hardly three, if you counted the few hours of day one when he was rushed into surgery. He was barely on his feet and yet stubbornly insistent about leaving against medical advice.

Danny would have torn him to shreds.

"Even just another twenty-four hours would do you a world of good, Commander." The duty doctor, no doubt prompted by Kono, was right there in his face as he parted one side of the privacy curtain. The man's arms were crossed firmly over his chest, his stance wide and immobile as he watched his patient prop himself carefully against the bed for balance.

"Thanks, Doc," Steve replied evenly. He was done discussing the intelligence of his decision because there simply wasn't anything smart about it. It was stupid. Risky. Yes, if Danny had been present, he'd have Steve's head on a platter. But Danny wasn't ... and so ...

Steve muttered under his breath in frustration as his body quivered from exertions it was ill-prepared for.

"I understand and appreciate your opinion. But I need to do this." Steve's tone was quiet not only due to the pain he was in, but also because his brain was racing a mile a minute. There was a veritable army out looking, but Danny needed him and Steve needed to be on his feet, active in the search. He was virtually ignoring his doctor and earning himself more of the man's ire for his dismissive behavior. Lost in thought about what his next move would be with or without INTERPOL, he winced as he tugged a clean t-shirt over his head, pulling on stitches and having his fingers accidentally connect with the thick bandage around his middle.

"I really can't condone your decision," the doctor continued. "You'd be at a great deal less risk and I can guarantee, even more help to your team if you'd just listen to what I'm advising. Another twenty-four hours of bedrest would definitely put you in a better condition to manage." He seemed determined to make his point. For all of that good intent though, he was only managing to make his patient ever more determined to leave.

The recitation of days and hours only spurred Steve to action for Danny's sake, certainly not for his own. Time. Too much time had already lapsed at a snail's pace with zero leads and a sincere lack of urgency from the key agency involved.  Unwilling to even meet the truth head on in his own mind, Steve had to.  He'd be lying to himself if he really thought ...if he truly _believed_ .... that  

They were already too late and Steve innately knew that.

But he also knew without a doubt that another twenty-four hours would spell disaster for his friend. Even though highly qualified people were looking for Danny, it wasn't nearly enough to suit his tastes. He was truly afraid that they’d never get Danny back - _alive_.

Steve needed to be on the street. Actively searching and calling the shots. Using threat or any means necessary, he was the one to demand action from INTERPOL.

Without apology, he struggled to his feet, a small smile playing at his lips as he pulled a pair of sweat pants from the duffel where his usual cargos would once have been - a considerate gesture of change by his young teammate who clearly anticipated his petulance and knew him too well. Steve hooked the cord of the patient property bag from the dresser and opened it to retrieve his wallet from his shredded cargo pants - no doubt removed in haste with the aid of trauma shears on his arrival. They were ruined, as was his stained and bloodied shirt; the stench was in his nose and it brought with it reminders of Spenser McCann, and his volume of threats. More impetus for him to stick to his decision with a stringent intensity.

"Thanks," Steve said, his mouth twitching into a fake smile as shoved the curtain completely open. He at least deigned to use the wheelchair brought up for him by an aide. As he was piloted past the perturbed physician, he caught the man's eye and nodded once, hoping he at least looked mostly sincere.

"Really. Thanks, Doc. For everything.”

With those last sentiments, he was gone and the doctor quickly forgotten.

Nothing mattered now but finding Danny.

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters.
> 
> We would like to thank the people leaving comments and kudos. This is a hard fic to write and we truly appreciate every bit of support.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Steve paced the floor of the Five-0 offices, shaking his head in disbelief. As he turned sharply to retrace his own steps for the tenth time, the site of his bullet wound twinged awkwardly and he grimaced. At least it wasn’t like the first week any more. At least he could stay on his feet for more than two freaking minutes at a time.

He paused for a moment, surveying the room around him.The repairs on the offices, once ruined by McCann’s catastrophic attack months earlier, were finally complete. New equipment had been purchased to replace everything that had been lost. Five-0 were being moved back in. Even as they worked Danny’s case, faceless techs had bustled around them, setting everything back up.

It should have been a happy day. It was the opposite of that.

Four weeks had passed since Danny had been taken and the team had run themselves ragged searching for him, for McCann. For the missing scientists, for clues as to the mercenary’s unknown plot. For _anything_. They had yelled themselves hoarse, trying to force INTERPOL to tell them what the hell was going on. Steve was now pretty convinced the reason they weren’t sharing was that they had no idea whatsoever what was going on. They were just too ashamed to admit it.

Whoever their mole was, he or she was fucking useless.

Steve spent his time threatening every CI, every lowlife, every INTERPOL agent. And FBI, CIA... his list of friends and contacts would be shorter after this, but he didn’t care.

And every day he had to make that trip to the Edwards’ house, he had to face Grace’s big brown eyes and Charlie’s sad, serious face as those precious kids sat there under the ever-watchful gaze of their HPD protection detail. He had to hug them, to tell them to keep hoping and praying. Tell them their Daddy was strong and he’d make it home. Each day he had to call Danny’s folks and say the same. They hadn’t called him on his bullshit yet, but it was only a matter of time. Danny’s intelligence hadn’t come out of nowhere.

And the hardest task of all- every day he had to hold _himself_ together. Popping way more painkillers than he should, leaning heavily against walls when no one was looking, and  _not_  letting himself think about what Danny was going through.  _None_ of the team were letting themselves think about it, none of them were speaking about it. It was too horrific, too much.

Four weeks in McCann’s hands....  _Four weeks._

He had caught Chin in Danny’s office earlier that day, staring at the brand new framed photo of Charlie and Grace that Steve had carefully placed on the brand new desk beside the brand new laptop. The Asian man had been weeping openly.

There was nothing Steve could say. He’d placed a hand on Chin’s shoulder and waited him out, not letting himself think.

But the truth of the matter was that, at some point, he was going to _have_ to think about it.

Sooner or later, they would either find Danny ( _please God_ ), and have to deal with what had happened to him. Or... they wouldn’t. They had no evidence that McCann, his team, and Danny Williams were even still on Oahu. They could have left. They might simply never re-surface. Five-0 would eventually run out of avenues to investigate, people to shake up. They would have to put the investigation on hold. Then there would be nothing left to do but speculate endlessly. No answers, no resolution, no reunion. No chance to help Danny get back on his feet, no chance to just... _be there_ for him. Not even a chance to say ‘goodbye’.

Steve paced a little faster.

The tight pain in his abdomen, a frequent unwanted visitor due to the simple fact he wasn’t resting, spiked a little higher. He smiled grimly, relishing the distraction.

“Steve. You okay?”

Steve turned at the sound of Lou Grover’s voice. “No. Anything new?”

Lou walked over slowly, shaking his head. “Usual whackjobs calling in response to the latest press appeal. The reward money the governor put up for anyone who can help find our boy has sure got ‘em crawling out the woodwork. HPD are following everything up anyway. You never know.” He cleared his throat and opened up the file he was holding, then started to relay the latest supposed sightings of Danny. 

As Steve listened, he sank down in the nearest chair, slouched forwards and placed his head in his hands. His anger grew in spades as he heard the blatant false reports, all made by people who didn’t give a shit about Danny- they just wanted a chance at making a fast buck. So yeah, it was a good thing that Lou Grover had taken over coordination of the ever-growing laundry list of calls coming in both to their office and to HPD. As soon as the first appeal had gone out on local and national media, the false tips and sightings had started and they seemed endless. If Steve had been the one to have to deal with the follow up enquiry, he would have likely torn apart each and every caller limb from limb by that point.

“And, last but not least, one Harold Mamoa says he saw Danny parked down at the docks on Sand Island Tuesday morning,” Lou sighed out, a shake of his head the only thing communicating his own distaste for having to manage the ridiculous volume of fake sightings and false leads.“Says he saw ‘im clear as day sitting in his ‘black ride’.”

“Harold Mamoa?  The Camaro, huh?  He wouldn’t know his own damned mother,” Steve growled tiredly through his fingers.  He cursed under his breath. Another sighting blatantly plucked from a pathetic haze of weed and greed- his partner’s car was safely parked at the HPD impound where CSI were currently going over it for the fifth time, looking for any grain of evidence they might somehow have missed.

“Dumb fuck.”

Steve carefully leaned back in his chair, one hand moving to rest over his healing injury. He winced.

And he had to look as crappy as he felt, because Lou’s face filled with sympathy. “How you holding up, buddy? You look like shit.”

Steve opened his mouth to reply to the bluntly honest assessment, but the words disappeared in a bubble of despair that rose up out of nowhere to choke him. He shook his head and hid his face in his hands again, pressing hard against his eyes because they were  _not_  giving up, this  _wasn’t_  the time for this.

He heard Lou drag a second chair over, then a soft creak as the big man sank down into it. Steve shook his head again. He didn’t want some fucking pep talk, he didn’t want to hear all the same bull he was having to spout to Danny’s family on a daily basis.

But Lou wasn’t stupid. “I know man, I know,” was all he said. And the deep baritone was wavering with emotion.

The sound of a strangled sob had Steve lowering his hands. He glanced up to see tears running down Lou’s face. His jaw dropped.

“Steve, don’t you think for one damn minute you have to carry this yourself,” the big guy rushed out between hitching breaths. “I know. We all know. You ain’t alone. You can talk to me, or any one of us, straight up. You gotta know that, just the same as I know I can talk to you.”

Steve stared, hearing the truth of his words. Suddenly he was too exhausted to even bother to try to cover up his feelings. He sagged back in the chair. “Fuck, Lou... I’m so scared for him. I’m so scared.”

As Lou’s hand clamped on his knee and, as he heard his good friend sob once more, Steve let go, let the tears come. Let the strain borne of weeks of frustration and fear, of maintaining the constant facade of the stoic leader even as the things that mattered most in his life threatened to disintegrate around him, beat him down, just this once.

If they didn’t find Danny, nothing would ever be the same again. And if they did find Danny... what would they be getting back after all this time?

 _Fuck..._ They needed a chance. They needed a clue, they needed a break, they needed _something_ that would help them end this hell. Steve let himself cry beside his friend, and prayed that it would come.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny smiled broadly.

He thought of Steve’s beach. Grace laughing in the sun as she texted persons unknown, pausing only to shoot her father classic teenage eye-rolls. Charlie making sandcastles with his crazy Uncle Steve, who would dive for the best decorations, searching out anything and everything the little boy asked for. Kono laughing sweetly and teasing him good-naturedly about anything and everything. Chin and Lou drinking beer on the lanaii, then shouting to him, teasing him some more.

He loved them all. Loved their company. Loved the life that he’d built with a whole lot of help on the random stupid island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Maybe, maybe, he even loved the island a little bit.

He grinned, stupidly content in that place in his mind. But, as much as he wished he was with the people he loved, he wasn’t. He had a new reality.

With a sigh, eyes still closed, he extended his senses and listened to the sounds of the rambling penthouse. He knew them all now. The drip of the water in the kitchen sink, the flush of a toilet. McCann’s men, taking it in turns to have some down time, playing cards, laughing, watching movies. It was all so… normal. They all knew what was happening to him, yet they just … let it happen?

It didn’t seem surprising anymore. Maybe it had become normal to him too.

Much like the effect of Pavlov’s bell on the poor dogs the man experimented on, Danny had learned the import of the mechanical hum that sometimes resonated though the very soles of his bare feet.  He would immediately tense and wait. Depending upon the time of day or the occasion, that particular deep tonal base sound could spell McCann’s return via the penthouse’s private elevator.

Danny would live those few minutes in suspense as the rumble intensified and a soft swoosh indicated the doors opening. He would listen with bated breath to learn who had arrived. The first voice or footstep... because he could recognize McCann’s footfall too… the heavy tread. The aggressive, fast booted heel-to-toe as the mercenary returned from whatever business he’d been conducting.

And if it was the man himself, Danny would wait to see what McCann would expect of him, and wait to fulfil those expectations to the best of his abilities because that was his role now. To obey without question. To keep McCann happy in order to keep his loved ones safe. It was a small price to pay.

McCann was training him up carefully, controlling every little aspect of his existence. He’d learned so many lessons now. He knew how to say ‘sorry’, of course. The cost of the smallest perceived slight was kneeling meekly to accept McCann’s cock down his throat. He’d learned how to take that, eventually. He’d also learned to sit motionless, chin raised, while Leon clean-shaved him the way McCann liked. He’d learned to eat the things McCann pressed between his lips with probing fingers without question. He’d learned how to greet his master- to drop to his knees, bow his head and wait. He’d learned to relax his body just so when McCann pushed in so it didn’t hurt as bad as it used to. He’d learned the things McCann liked too- the things that made him finish faster, getting Danny’s duties over with quicker. And he’d gotten better at distancing his mind. Of appearing to be there, eye to eye with McCann in the moment, but actually being wherever the hell he wanted to be. He needed to be better still, need to hone that skill, because it came and went a little. He needed to master it. He’d get there.

He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been McCann’s now. He’d lost track of time and perspective much faster than he had ever assumed possible. He opened his eyes, automatically searching out his flap of wallpaper below the window. He’d straightened out that uneven side days earlier. Or was it weeks? It looked good now, anyway. Long, sharp-ended like a knife. He’d have to watch the point didn’t start to curl. That would look all wrong, not what he needed at all.

He frowned. How could he flatten it out if that happened? He could sit and hold it for a few hours, that might do it. Or tear the end off, take the point back a bit? But if he kept having to do that his triangle would get smaller and smaller and that would be really, really bad. He would have to find something new to look at and the room was bare. Devoid of anything but the one big bed.

He inhaled sharply as the teeth that were holding the skin on his shoulder dug in sharply, drawing blood.

That was bad, that broke his concentration. He whimpered softly as the raw agony of reality hammered through. He gritted his teeth, fingers clawing at the bedcovers as McCann slammed into him brutally, his feral grunts filling the room.

McCann’s breath filled his nostrils. The sour combination of liquor and an old spiced cologne, worsened by the sharp scents of sweat and sex.

Danny moaned helplessly beneath the man who dominated his every sense.

Fuck it was bad when reality leaked through. But he was face down and that was good. McCann couldn’t try to make him pay attention when he was face down so it was a hundred times easier to dissociate from what was happening. This was the best position.

His eyes sought out the flap of paper again, and he stared at it intently, breathing hard as he searched frantically for mental escape, as he blanked the burning pain.

Triangle, straight edges, cream. The color of the décor in Rachel’s bedroom, the color of cheap mayonnaise. A few shades darker than skimmed milk.

It worked, it worked right up until a big hand pressed the back of his neck down hard, snapping him back to reality just in time to experience McCann releasing inside him in all its glory.

He closed his eyes as McCann pulled out. Then he squeezed them tighter, bracing himself for what always came next. The plug was rammed in with no warning as ever. Danny bit his lip. It was smaller than McCann but the guy always had to play about with it, never content with just putting it in and leaving it. The idea of the thing keeping his semen inside Danny’s body floated the mercenary’s deviant boat in a big way, Danny had learned.

He forced himself to not cry out as the hard plastic was pressed rhythmically against the edges of his swollen ass. He reminded himself not to fight back, not tear it out, not try to stick it down McCann’s throat.

“There,” McCann whispered in his ear. “I’m sorry I have to do that, but you know you swell too much without it and I’ll want in again later. Leave it in unless you need the toilet, okay?”

Danny nodded into the pillow.

McCann grabbed his shoulder, turned him over and kissed him roughly. Danny tasted his own blood.

“Did that feel good, petal?”

Danny opened his eyes, met McCann’s gaze as he answered the laden question. “Yes. Thank you.” He managed to rasp out the words McCann had taught him to say, hoping his true feelings wouldn’t show. The burning hate, the murderous fantasies. He despised the mercenary with every micron of his being.

His obedience earned him another kiss, McCann’s tongue pushing in between his lips. He drew back, patted Danny’s cheek. “Mmmm, good boy.”

Then McCann was staring at him, one eyebrow raised. Danny was staring right back and he corrected himself hurriedly, lowered his gaze. But McCann must have caught something in Danny’s eyes, some indication of the fire that still survived, carefully concealed deep within him.

McCann smiled broadly, like he was getting even more of a kick out of his absolute control over Danny because he _wasn_ _’_ _t_ broken, he wasn’t just cowering in front of him for all the pain and humiliation he was being put through in a cycling ritual. He was going through the motions of what he was told to do, biding his time until he could get his hands on a fucking phone, because he _had_ to. McCann was controlling him but he hadn’t beaten him. Not really. He didn’t think so anyway. Okay, maybe an edge of doubt was starting to creep in.

A hand ran from Danny’s cheek down his chest to his groin. McCann grabbed his dick and squeezed.

Danny froze, breathing hard through his nose.

McCann licked Danny’s cheek. “Kiss me, Danno,” he breathed.

Nostrils flaring in disgust, Danny raised his head enough to meet McCann’s lips for a chaste peck.

“No. Kiss me like you mean it.”

This was a new demand and Danny nearly forgot how to breathe. It was one thing to be taken; to be forced to carry out McCann’s will. Danny could escape in his head and make it impersonal, pretend it wasn’t really happening.

This… somehow  _this_  was different. To be expected to initiate something so personal, something that should be intimate and loving- it felt… intrusive.  Danny hesitated.

“Kiss me like you love me,” Spenser growled much too softly, his eyes communicating his displeasure about the delay. He slid his hand up, releasing Danny’s cock and resting instead against his neck.

He had no choice. As always, he had no choice. Danny leaned up, to press against McCann’s lips. He was kissed back in kind, at first chaste and sweet, but then McCann hummed a warning, his fingers tightening around Danny’s neck.

 _He wanted more._  With that added threat, Danny closed his eyes, brow furrowed in distress. He tried to lose himself, tried to imagine he was with some fantasy woman, or someone he loved, or _had_ loved, or… just  _not this_.

But McCann’s scent was everywhere. There was no escaping exactly who he was with. Danny pressed in deeper, his lips parting and his tongue probing between McCann’s warm lips. McCann shifted his hand to Danny’s cheek and began to caress it softly. Then that hand slid downwards again, back to Danny’s dick. The mercenary cupped it softly, then began to stroke, to massage. His touch was gentle and expert and if it hadn’t been  _him_ and the situation hadn’t been horrific, it would have felt  _good_.

The kiss was soft. They explored each other’s mouths tenderly, lazily, like young, sated lovers. But Danny’s acting abilities were slipping. He was shaking, tremors running through him, head to foot. The taste of McCann, the soft, sensual touches, the air they were sharing- it all felt so intimate, so intense, so fundamentally wrong. Like the guy was getting inside his  _head_.

McCann finally drew back, his hand sliding back up to Danny’s face. He rested his forehead against Danny’s. “You’re mine," he murmured.

Then it was over. McCann stood up, shot him a smug smile and walked out of the room.

Danny just lay there, trembling hard, shaken to his very core in a way he hadn’t been since near the beginning of this nightmare… by a kiss. He resolved not to think about it, resolved to shut it away in a distant corner of his mind and just forget it. He took a moment, locked it away deliberately and closed the door on it so it couldn’t touch him anymore.

He shook his head slowly. He wanted nothing more than to scrub himself clean, to pull that fucking thing out of his ass. To tear McCann limb from limb for doing these things to him. For threatening his baby girl.

He let out a shaky breath. Things couldn’t get worse, really. But he was… okay. He was coping, holding it together, so it was okay. He gave himself a mental pat on the back. He could do this. He could. It was only until he got his hands on a phone and his kids were safe. He could last, he could manage. He wouldn’t let McCann get in his head. He wouldn’t think about that kiss. He was going to be fine. He was going to come out of this, psyche intact. He _wasn’t_ beaten. He still had _hope_.

He turned his head, eyes seeking out his flap of paper, but before he could find it a surge of lightheadedness struck him and he gasped. He felt so shaky, so mentally vague.

The dizziness should have been a warning, but still the flashback hit him out of nowhere.

" _Relax, Danno. Take it like a good boy._ "  _Spenser_ ' _s voice softly intoned from overhead as a stray hand caressed his chest. There was a sound in the background_ –  _noise from the television, but the words meant nothing with the man's hard cock shoved deep inside him._

 _Danny_ _’_ _s back was pressed up against the older man's broad chest, and strong arms kept him in a bear hug while he lay there, impaled on the man's cock. Impaled and helpless as he was rocked in place on the sofa, his hips sometimes lifted or tipped, soft grunts of pleasure in his ear._

_Walker watching from the side, jerking himself off. Wanting to touch, not permitted to touch, eyes filled with hate and lust._

Danny panted hard as the intrusive memory slowly faded.

His face screwed up and he swore. He hated it when that happened, _hated_ it. His eyes burned. His defences knocked off-kilter by the mental onslaught, the real pain his horrific existence was causing kicked back in full-force. The bites, the bruises, the scratches, the undeniable constant burning ache in his backside. And other things, lesser things. A throbbing at the base of his skull, the deep fatigue in his muscles. Nausea. Thirst. He was always thirsty. And hunger. He was given so little food, barely enough to keep him going.

And the _mental_ anguish… the things McCann expected of him… the humiliation, the disgust, the pain. Not knowing if his chance to call for help, to let his team know the true danger they and his family were in, would _ever_ come. Not knowing if he’d _ever_ get to go home. Worst of all, the perpetual, unabating terror that he might fuck up, that Grace, or anyone he loved might suffer through the very torture he was enduring.

 _Too much_. It was all too much. He heard a strange, high-pitched sound and realized after long seconds it was _him_. _He_ was whimpering, drawn-out and pathetic. He swore, admonishing himself for the outward show of weakness.

“It’s for Grace, you selfish, pathetic…,” his mumbles faded away as his determination kicked back in. _For Grace._ He _could_ do this.

He turned his head and searched out his flap of wallpaper.

 

 

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

The wind screamed through the black Hawaiian night. It tore around the high-rise, shaking the building and rattling the windows like some mythical monster hell-bent on destruction. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled.

The storm was close.  

Danny was on his knees in the corner of the living room, exactly where Spenser McCann had placed him a few minutes earlier, hands clasped obediently behind his back. His head was bowed, but he watched silently through his lashes. The mercenary’s core team from hell were right there, all of them. They were laughing and joking at his expense, at the meek submission of the once strong, rebellious cop.

He was deaf to their taunts. They meant nothing. His attention was glued to one man, the man who held everything that mattered to Danny in the palm of his hand.

The power had gone out some time before and the flickering candlelight now illuminating the room sent shadows playing across that hated face, rendering the features sharper, the eyes darker. McCann was the epitome of evil, interchangeable in Danny’s mind with Satan himself.

Still Danny watched, mesmerized.

Danny’s whole life revolved around McCann now. He hated McCann, he feared McCann, but he desperately needed to _please_ McCann just to keep his loved ones safe. He couldn’t put a foot wrong, he had to analyse his every move to make sure it was _right_ , because displeasing McCann was _bad_. Really, really bad. It brought pain for him, and worse, it brought the prospect of that bastard HPD mole appearing with someone Danny loved, _here_ , a step closer.

Danny was walking on eggshells. He _couldn’t_ fuck up. He had to concentrate, to do the right thing. But he was weak. It was _hard_ to concentrate. It was easier to float off to the happy places in his mind.

McCann, McCann. McCann. _Bastard_.  
   
Dylan Walker was in front of Danny now, laughing as he thrust his groin in the detective’s face. Danny held his ground, didn’t flinch away. He wasn’t permitted to move. _“If you make a sound or move a muscle, Danno,”_ McCann had whispered in his ear, dark eyes glimmering. _“If you do anything to embarrass me, you’ll suck me in front of them all again… so mind your manners. Be a good pet.”_

He meant it. McCann had never lied to Danny, never issued an empty threat. Danny had learned that he could take him at his word in this, as in all things.

“Spense, can I handcuff him? We’ve still got his cuffs, right? Can I use them on him? Please? His own cuffs? It’s fucking poetic, right?” The unexpected request came from Walker, and was followed by an approving cheer from a few of the shadowed figures.

There was a pause, and Danny didn’t know which way this could go because he still did not understand the relationship between those two men by any stretch of the imagination. Then his heart sank as a slow smile grew on McCann’s face, followed by a curt nod.

Still Danny didn’t move, didn’t resist, as his handcuffs tightened on his wrists with a familiar ‘click’ and an accompanying wave of mocking laughter. He felt trapped. Lost. Weak. He searched for his mental escape but when he got there, when he pictured the people he loved, he found himself longing for home so badly it physically hurt. Would he ever see those people again? Would this ever end? The superficially simple steps of the loose escape plan he had formulated early on drifted in and out of his reach, and that really _was_ pathetic. _Get a phone. Tell Steve about Davies. Make sure everyone is safe. Then they can come for you._  
   
Simple, it was simple.

He went through those steps a few times in an effort to re-cement them more firmly in his mind. But he was so tired. So sore. So low. It was so hard to concentrate. Maybe he wasn’t biding his time, surviving as best he could, holding out for an opportunity that had simply never materialized yet. Maybe that opportunity hadn’t materialized because of _him_. Because he was too pathetic, too beaten to have _made_ it happen.

The room zoned back in abruptly, figures re-materializing from the introverted fog he’d momentarily drifted in. The atmosphere had shifted and the men were talking amongst themselves, serious and focused. They had tired of him and the dearth of reaction their antics were earning, he supposed.

McCann and his cronies had been together in here for hours, since before the lights had gone out. Danny had heard them through the walls, their words muffled. When Leon had come to fetch him at the behest of the man in charge, he must have simply represented the entertainment for a brief break in proceedings, because they were back on topic now, back to business. Danny frowned. Jesus, McCann was an egotistical maniac, openly discussing his plans in front of a cop.

He felt McCann’s eyes on him and shuddered. Then it made sense. The bastard was just flaunting his power again, letting both Danny and the gathered men see that he didn’t even remotely fear _this_ cop being aware of his plans. And why would he? What could Danny do?

Biting back an uncomfortable hiss of pain, Danny shifted on his knees almost imperceptibly. His shoulders were burning and his lower back was on fire from having to maintain the position McCann had placed him in. The old injury in his knee had begun to ache somewhere along the way too. And now the fucking cuffs were digging in. Walker was a bastard too. Like they were necessary, like he had the option to fight back.

Then a moment of clarity washed over him. Here he _did_ have the opportunity to fight back in the subtlest of ways. McCann was making assumptions about him. Danny gritted his teeth. Fuck him. Fuck McCann. Danny was going to listen and take note, because Danny was still a cop, no matter what had been done to him. Danny was going to remember, just in case he ever had the chance to use what he overheard against his captors. Fuck McCann. Fuck. Him.

Striving to reach and maintain a level of concentration he had become accustomed to avoiding like the plague, Danny watched McCann’s chosen few discretely through his eyelashes, counting them, memorizing faces and words as best as he could.

No less than fifteen men ranged around the room, McCann at the center, his Second casually lounging against the back of the sofa, one hip perched high. Maps and papers that Danny couldn’t quite see had been spread out on the dining room table.  
   
Danny tried to listen, but whenever McCann spoke everything went hazy, his mind automatically zoning out the mercenary’s words and blurring the world around him. It was knee-jerk self-protection and Danny had relied on it to keep him sane so far, but for once he didn’t want it at all. He squeezed his eyes shut, furious with himself. He was a cop for fuck’s sake! He had been dragged into a meeting of the core members of McCann’s team. He _had_ to listen!  
   
He shifted again, needing to close his eyes once more for a moment to concentrate on maintaining his position in the corner before he resumed his discrete observations.

“But if we shift them from the pump house we’ll have to set up again and we’ll lose, what a day? Half a day? What’s the point?” said a dark-haired man Danny recognized from some Five-0 briefing, sometime, somewhere. Aster? Was he called Aster? He was wanted some place, for some unpleasant crime. “McCann, there’s no indication the location has been compromised- I know that moving them on routinely is strategically sound, but I think it’s unnecessary.”  
   
McCann groaned long and loud before he replied, and Danny had to strain hard to listen past the resultant chattering of his own teeth. “You’re a dickhead. But I think for once you’re right. It’s not on HPD or Five-0’s radar, we know that. And INTERPOL are a bunch of useless fuckers. OK, we’ll keep them there until their job is done. But I want you two to head up to Ewa and check over the current security provisions in person. No fuck ups or I’ll kill you both myself.”  
   
A few murmurs of concurrence followed.  
   
“Right!” said McCann. “I’ve had confirmation from HPD that traffic cam is down everywhere- we need to make the most of this and get our recon done. Let’s do it.”  
   
As the men filed out of the room, maps and papers with them, McCann paused to caress Danny’s cheek. “So Danny, are you impressed with my team?”  
   
Danny’s gaze dropped lower still and he kept his mouth closed about what the egotist really meant. _‘Are you impressed with me?’_ He searched for the right words to answer with.  
   
His momentary hesitation cost him. He grunted in pain as McCann grasped him under an arm to heave him to his feet. Danny staggered forward, needing the man’s support as his stiffened knee refused to hold his weight.  
   
“I asked you a question,” McCann growled in his face. “Are. You. Impressed?”  
   
“Yes,” Danny replied, his voice tight with discomfort as his weakened body dealt with being upright again.  
   
“Hmmm, I might like you like this,” McCann said suddenly, changing course without warning. The fingers of his right hand eased around to stroke the cuffs binding Danny’s wrists.  
   
Unable to move, Danny fought to stay still as McCann’s left hand stroked his hair only to unexpectedly yank his head back. Then he was fighting to stay balanced on his feet as McCann plunged his tongue into his mouth, aggressively seeking and probing. A moment later that same calloused hand was rubbing against his nipples and then groping between Danny’s legs.  
   
“Yes, yes indeed. Sometimes Dylan has the most inspired ideas,” McCann murmured as he forced Danny to fall into him, his arms uselessly stuck behind his back. The sheer breadth and strength of the older man the only thing now holding Danny up.  
   
”Something to explore when I get back … you can think on that, petal.” McCann snorted happily through his nose as he pushed Danny roughly back down to his knees, eye level to the mercenary’s crotch.  
   
Danny couldn’t prevent that hiss of pain from finally leaking out from his lips as his bad knee slammed helplessly into the floor, carpeted or not. The joint couldn’t stand the abuse it was taking. 

McCann palmed himself through the material of his pants right in front of Danny’s face. Danny’s fleeting burst of silent rebellion appeared to have inadvertently pushed back his carefully constructed barriers, because he had to work damn hard not to look away, his breaths a juddering of frenetic sound that measured the effort his obedience took.  Hands trapped behind his back, Danny pulled surreptitiously at his cuffs, hurting his wrists in spite of himself.  
   
“I’d love a going-away present from that mouth of yours,” McCann said, his fingers now toying with the top of Danny’s head, his middle finger wrapping carelessly around a strand of hair. “But alas, I lack the time. So be a good boy for Leon, petal. And when I get back … we can catch up … make up for this precious amount of lost time.”  
   
With those parting words, McCann and his cohorts left. Finally by himself again, Danny sagged weakly to the side of one hip while trying to find the wherewithal to catch his breath.   
   
He let his eyes fall shut, not bothering to search out a more comfortable position as he sought that priceless mental escape. But after just a few minutes of peace, heavy footsteps had him blinking them open again.  
   
It was Leon. He slumped with relief as the big man bent over and unlocked his cuffs. He rubbed his sore wrists tiredly.  
   
“He’s not going to be back for at least two hours,” Leon announced.  “It’s late; after midnight.  Shower … have something to eat and then get off your feet. Take advantage of this time … _alone_.”  
   
Then, Leon stared at him far too long and hard.  It was almost as if he were trying to communicate something.  His expression was unreadable though in the dim light cast by the candles and Danny could only stare back, perplexed by the big man’s odd behavior.  
   
Leon’s gaze skittered up to the discrete camera located on the ceiling above them before returning to Danny’s face, glaring intently. A flash of anger followed at Danny’s obtuseness at whatever message the man was trying to convey.  
   
“Shower,” Leon growled out as one of his heavily armed peers strolled by, an amused glance aimed entirely at Leon for his unenviable job. “Damned fool!  Everything you need is in there … _Everything_. Towel’s on the floor. Hurry it up!”  
   
Danny stood shakily, leaning against the wall. He stared at Leon’s retreating back, totally confused.  
   
He remained clueless right up until he found the cell phone in the thick folds of the white towel on the bathroom floor.  
   
As the water pounded away in the shower stall, Danny sank to his knees in shock, holding the small device between his fingers. He glanced up at the hidden camera above him, the camera that would normally log his every move even in here…. Of course… the power outage had killed it like all the others.  
   
This was as alone as he’d ever been and Leon had actually given him a chance. He gasped in shock. Why had Leon given him a chance? He couldn’t find an answer.

Fingers shaking and mouth dry, Danny hastily dialed Steve’s number, praying the cell network was still up. He melded the phone to his ear. Two rings in, a familiar voice answered the call, gravelly and rough from stress and exhaustion.  
   
_‘McGarrett.”_  
   
Danny closed his eyes in abject relief. He breathed in, long and deep, stunned at how simple it all suddenly seemed to be. He opened his mouth, his lips moving soundlessly as the pause caused his best friend to adopt a guarded attitude.  
   
_“Who is this? Is anyone there?”_  
   
“S-Ssteve?”  Danny whispered hoarsely. “Steve …”  
   
_“Oh my God! Danny?!”_ Steve’s rushed intake of breath was nearly deafening in his ear and Danny found himself smiling weakly into the air.   
   
“Yeah, hey,” Danny murmured softly.  
   
The subsequent stunned oath on the other side was followed by a near jubilant shout and something else… _other_ people. Other people reacting to the call, Danny realized. Chin, Lou… Kono, he could hear Kono. Was Steve at work? Even now, at this time? Of course he would be, they would be searching for Danny relentlessly, determined to free him from McCann’s clutches.   
   
_“Danny, are you okay? Are you safe? Where are you?”_ Steve was shouting into the phone in his shocked excitement.  
   
Danny almost sobbed as the cop in him insisted the limited intel he had gleaned had to come first. “L-listen, listen. H-he’s holding someone a-at a pump house near Ewa. There’s a disused one a couple of miles outside the city. I think that’ll be the place. I…”

Danny hesitated, running through his plan in his head… _tell him about Davies… get everyone safe… then they can rescue you._  
   
_“Okay, okay, nice one buddy, that’s gotta be the missing scientists. But what about you, where are you?” S_ teve sounded breathless and there was a waver in his voice- excitement and anxiety warring for precedence. Danny could almost see him- his expression, his mannerisms. He wondered if he still looked sick after being shot. He should still be taking it easy, not staying up till God knows when hunting mercenaries. He hoped the team were on his case, making him look after himself when Danny wasn’t there to protect him.  
   
Danny’s stomach dropped and his smile fell away.  
   
Danny had to protect him, had to protect everyone. Grace. He opened his mouth to tell Steve about Davies.  
   
But McCann’s arrogant smile pushed into his mind and Danny almost felt his powerful presence.  
   
Suddenly his head reeled in panic as he belatedly recognized huge flaws in his long-standing plan.  
   
What if Davies wasn’t McCann’s only plant in HPD? And, even if he was, if Davies was discovered by Five-0 with no due cause… then McCann would  _know_. If he figured out that the intel had been let loose from inside his ranks - from inside the penthouse. If they realized it was _Danny_ who had told while McCann or Walker were still on the loose... Grace could still suffer for Danny’s selfish attempt to secure his own rescue. Or Charlie. Or Steve. Any of them. Danny had no honest idea how far McCann’s reach extended.

He couldn’t do it.  
   
No, along as McCann was alive, the only way Danny could keep them safe was by doing as he was told, staying right where he was. It was the only option.  
   
He _couldn’t_ go home.

McCann’s smile widened in his mind. _Good boy,_ the mercenary whispered softly.  
   
Danny nearly choked. He couldn’t stop the pained whimper that escaped his lips as the end to his ordeal which had just come so close slipped rapidly away from him.  
   
Steve, of course, picked up on his distress in an instant, if not the cause of it. _“Okay, it’s okay,”_ he soothed. _“We’re tracing your call. Just stay wherever you are, we’ll come get you.”_  
   
Steve sounded so eager, so excited, so terribly concerned and just so incredibly real that Danny wanted to cry.  
   
He shook his head. He couldn’t let any of this happen. And he’d already said too much- if they realized what he had done… he’d already put his loved ones at risk. “Y-you gotta act like you just stumbled upon the pump house, yeah? _Please_ ,” he whispered desperately.  
   
_“What? Sure, but Danny…”_ Steve’s tone was changing, the perceptive man plainly already having realized things were not as they had initially appeared.  
   
Danny could hardly believe he was saying the words even as they fell from his lips. “Steve, shut up… I … I need you to stop looking for me. Just …  _stop_. Back off from this. Please. Don’t … don’t come,” he croaked out as his eyes began to fill with tears.   “I … I’m … okay. Really.”  
   
_“What…?”_ A stunned silence followed, then “ _Danny, what? No, you’re confused babe, that’s all, that’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay. We’re coming to get you. Just another couple of minutes on the trace, yeah? We’re on back-up power and primary systems only here but Chin’s making it work somehow. We just need another couple of minutes, I promise. Then we’ll bring you home, babe.”_  
   
Danny shook his head. “No, you have to leave me. I… I _need_ to be here. I need… I need to be with McCann,” Danny breathed out, his voice cracking.   
   
_“Danny…,”_ Steve began, and Danny could hear the complete confusion in his partner’s voice. “ _Wait… is he there with you now? Is he making you do this? Just say… say my name right now if he’s with you, okay?”_  
   
Danny closed his eyes, heart pounding in his chest. Why hadn’t he thought this through? He needed… he needed everyone to be safe. “No! No, it’s not that. Listen to me, Steve. You have to leave me. It’s not safe … he’s got eyes on Grace and … Charlie. _You_ , even, maybe _everyone_.” Danny stopped for an instant to catch his breath, one name on the tip of his tongue.  _Davies_. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t risk saying it.  
   
In the horrified silence that ensued, the tension was palpable and Danny closed his eyes, his breathing ragged and harsh inside his own head. “Steve. Please.”   
   
On the other side, wherever Steve was, he could see the look on his best friend’s face. He could read the confusion, the bewilderment, and almost envision the disbelieving rage growing, but Danny had no other choices left.  
   
_“Stop looking for you and just … what? Walk away? Fuck! Danny, you can’t mean that! You know that’s not going to happen, right?”_ Steve was virtually shouting now. There was a loud, dull thud on the other side and Danny winced in the certain knowledge that a very real, fist-sized hole now existed in whatever wall Steve had been standing beside.  
   
Yet when he spoke again, Steve’s tone was gentle. Coaxing. The fury was not directed at him- it was all for McCann. _“Partner, we can beat him … we’ll take him down. But we’ve got to get you home!”_  
   
“You _can’t_!” Danny choked back a sharp, biting laugh.  “He’ll take her …  _use_  her and then maybe even kk-kill her. You’re not safe … none of you are safe.”   There were tears in his voice and he was having trouble now keeping his words even and understandable.    
   
“I’m sorry,” Danny whispered. “Please, Steve. You need to understand. Stay away. For Grace’s sake … for yourself. I’m… I’m _okay_. I-I can do this. I have to… I have to go, I’m so sorry.”  
   
_“Danny, wait!”_  Steve was begging now. _“Stay on the line! Please. I know you don’t mean this, I know he’s making you say this, or, or, he’s got in your head. We can sort everything. I can keep everyone safe, I promise. I need to bring you home, buddy. C’mon, let’s talk about this!”_  
   
Danny squeezed his eyes shut, so badly wanting to back down. Wanting to end this hell. Wanting to let Steve get the freaking trace completed like he was so obviously angling to do now, clearly unaccepting of Danny’s decision, stubborn bastard that he was. But Danny couldn’t let that happen.  
   
“Take care of my kids, Steven,” Danny whispered resolutely as a trembling finger rose to poise over the end call key on the cell phone. He was shaking and loathe to cut the connection, knowing it was the last time he’d be able to talk to anyone he truly loved again.  But things were finally clear to him; more clear than they‘d ever been since McCann had managed to take over his life.  
   
_“Danno…”_  
   
Danny shook his head, his resolve firm. Spenser McCann would win everything  _except_  his family.  
   
“No …aa-and I’m ss-sorry … but, this is for the best. It’s … it’s the only thing I cc-can do for all of you now.”  
   
_“Danny!”_  
   
“Steve… ” Danny came to a halt, breath hitching painfully, before whispering one final, lonely word.   “Goodbye.”  
   
In a flash, Danny’s finger fell hard on the key then he dropped the device to the tiled floor. He hugged his arms tightly around his chilled body as he knelt there trembling violently. He began to rock in place. Staring blindly at the phone’s small screen, he bit back a bitter sob.

He could never go home. Never.

Tears flooded his eyes before they broke over to spill down his cheeks in a torrent.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters.
> 
> THANK YOU for the comments and kudos, we really appreciate it! Apologies for the wait- we have complicated lives ATM. But rest assured this story will be completed- we've written pretty much to the end but then seem to be spending forever re-drafting!

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

After Danny did the unthinkable and cut the connection, the bull-pen fell silent save for Steve’s labored breathing.

Steve stared wide-eyed at his cell as he panted for air, clutching the offending piece of technology with a death-grip as though that priceless connection to his missing partner might remain in some tangible way through the thing. The blurred words  _Call Ended_ werebarely discernible through his tears. 

 _Goodbye_. Danny had said  _goodbye_.

“No, no, no, no,  _no_!” Steve found himself yelling at the phone. He whirled round, glaring wildly at his shell-shocked team-mates, then at the display on the tech table. “Chin, tell me you got him! Tell me you got him!!”

Then a room full of frantic eyes was on the Asian man. Chin’s fingers had never stopped dancing across the tech table for all the time their friend and colleague had been on the line, for every wonderful, terrible moment his wavering, desperate voice had echoed around the walls of their office.

But Chin was shaking his head even as he worked. The normally stoic man looked completely heart-broken and Steve thought he was going to throw up right then and there because surely that could only mean one thing.

“I’m sorry Steve, he wasn’t on long enough… _fuck_! And the cell he used is switched off and non-functioning now. I can’t get him back!”

Steve shook his head in complete denial, one trembling hand scrubbing down his hot, wet face. The tears that had sprung up while he was speaking to his best friend might have ceased now, but  _Jesus_  the pain hadn’t lessened. 

“But you got something, right?” he pushed. “You narrowed it down. He was on for long enough for that. Right?” He heard the searing desperation in his own voice, but he simply didn’t care.

Chin finally paused long enough to meet his eye. “I _did_ get something,” he concurred. “He’s  _here_ , he’s still on Oahu.”

A faint smile began to curl the corners of Steve’s mouth, because that… that was freaking _fantastic_ news. But before it could fully develop, Chin jumped back in, fast.

“ _But_ I don’t know _where_ Steve, I’m so sorry.” The Asian man swore vehemently again, his own tenuous grip on his feelings transparent. He pointed at the tech table display.

“His signal bounced off the high mast at Manoa, which does narrow it down to the south side of the island. But that mast is running with a twenty kilometer signal radius right now and it’s the _only_ mast in the area that hasn’t been knocked out by the storm. That means there’s no way to triangulate his signal. No way to narrow down his location like we usually would.”

Steve’s smile fell away. A 20k radius from the big mast at Manoa? His eyes drifted to the map on the wall beside them. That would take in… pretty much the whole of Honolulu, plus Lilihua, Waimanaloe and Kailua! The freaking Watershed Forest Reserve for God’s sake! He felt bile rising higher in his throat. Danny had found a way to reach out to them, for all he’d plainly been terrified, yet they _still_ weren’t going to get him back?

An explosion driven by fear and frustration was brewing inside him again, he could _feel_ it. His darting gaze came to a rest on the hole he’d punched clear through the new drywall not five minutes earlier. He gritted his teeth, shook his head, refusing to let himself storm out of control, because  _shit_  he needed to stay functional right now.

He wasn’t the only one who was struggling to keep his cool.

“That’s awesome, that’s freaking awesome,” snarled Lou, fury in his eyes. “We _already have_ roadblocks in place in _all_ of those areas! We already have facial rec working 24/7 on the traffic cam feeds and the CCTV feeds from every single _freaking_ camera that we know about! We’ve searched the vacant buildings- I'll _swear_ HPD searched that freaking pump station Danny mentioned- and we’ve searched the forest. We already have all CI ears to the ground! Yet Danny’s _here_?! And McCann’s _here_?!”

He slammed a beefy hand down on the tech table. “So any of you want to tell me why haven’t we found either of them? Not one single, solitary confirmed sighting? Between us, INTERPOL and HPD, we’ve torn this island apart ten times over! What the hell is going on here, McGarrett? This does _not_ make sense.”

Steve stared at him. Lou was right. It didn’t make sense.

 _It didn’t make sense_.

And just like that, the cop way of thinking that Danny had inflicted on him over and over again through the years until finally, apparently, some of it stuck, kicked in.

It didn’t make sense. Therefore it wasn’t _right_. They were missing something _big_.

Danny’s desperate words ran through his unwilling mind again on fast forward, and his guts _twisted_ at the raw memory of the conversation… but and then he stopped, gasping out loud. There it was. Glaring, terrifying, bewildering.

“Guys…,” he said. “Danny said that McCann’s got eyes on Grace, on Charlie, on _all of us_. Now Danny would know without a _single_ doubt that the first thing we would do is make sure his kids were safe, right? He’s gonna _know_ we’re busy looking for him and hunting McCann so he’s gonna _know_ that HPD will be the ones to get the baby-sitting job, right?”

“Of course, that makes sense,” Chin agreed, a frown creasing his brow.

Kono gasped out loud, clearly cottoning on to what he was saying. “So why is knowing HPD have a detail on his kids not enough to reassure him?”

Steve nodded curtly. “Exactly!”

“Oh my God. You think McCann has someone inside HPD?!” Chin looked appalled.

“I don’t want to… but it fits. Right? And if Danny's right about that pump station... no _way_  should HPD have cleared it! Right? Let’s face it, it wouldn’t be the first time HPD were compromised like that!” Steve put his hands on his head and paced in a tight circle, before leaning on the table again, looking each of his team in the eye. “And maybe… maybe not just HPD. Maybe the CIA, maybe… maybe INTERPOL! We just can’t know!”

There was a stunned silence as the team absorbed Steve’s words.

“Damn it, but I think you’re right.” Lou agreed, nodding slowly. Then his face screwed up as though he was in actual physical pain. For a horrible moment, Steve thought Lou was going to break down and his heart lurched, because he was way too close to the edge himself right then to witness that. But then the Chicago man seemed to steel himself. When spoke again, his words were choked, but tightly controlled.

“Because that boy- our Danny Williams- he’s a fighter and he’s as pig-headed as they come, we _all_ know him, we _all_ know that. But tonight… he sounded _scared_ , and _broken_ and that just ain’t right! And I know we’re all tryin’ our hardest not to think about what’s been happenin’ to him, but the fact is we have a pretty damn good idea. But you know what? I can’t believe it really matters a shit what McCann’s put him through- he just _ain_ _’_ _t_ gonna break that easy. He’s too strong to be… intimidated and beaten and… and humiliated into submission. He would fight to come home as long as there was breath left in his body unless he had a damn good reason. And tonight… he had a chance to come home and he didn’t take it! Why?!”

Lou paused, shook his head hard and turned to meet Steve’s gaze. “You’ve gotta be right, Steve. I’m thinking he knows something concrete. He knows something that has him genuinely scared. And this… it makes sense, dammit! In every way!”

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Lou’s words had dragged the enormity of what had happened to his partner out from behind Steve’s barriers. He found he couldn’t trust his voice and he stopped, chewing on his lip in a vain attempt to disguise his anguish.  

Chin broke the emotion-laden silence first. “So what are we supposed to do if we don’t know who to trust? Where do we even start?”

Kono turned to Steve, wide-eyed. “We _can’t_ ignore the intel Danny just gave us- we’ve _got_ to try to free the scientists. And _McCann_ might even _be_ at the location he gave us. Or someone who knows where Danny is! But we have to look for Danny, we have to work out who might have been compromised…and we have to protect Charlie and Grace! We need resources, we need people! We can’t do all that ourselves. Where _do_ we start!”

Steve started to pace, hands on his head again. It was so damn hard to focus, the echo of his partner’s heart-breaking tones thundering in his ears as it was… but _God_ he had to.

“Okay… okay,” he began, words coming out as the thoughts solidified. “So if we start interrogating random HPD officers, McCann’s going to find out we’re on to him and fast… we can’t risk that, not yet. So… we work out who we can trust. Our closest people only. Duke. Kamekona. Adam. Jerry. Right? There’s a start. We get Danny’s kids safe. We can’t pull the HPD detail off them without tipping our hand, but no one’s gonna be suspicious if, say, Kamekona goes to spend a little time with them. Right? Or Adam?”

“Right,” Kono agreed, and Lou and Chin nodded in concurrence.

“And we… we can go check out the pump station _discretely_ , surveille it. See if we can grab someone on the quiet, someone we can ‘speak’ to…,” Steve began.

Chin cut in, a grim smile growing on his face. “And make them tell us where Danny is. And who McCann has in HPD. And what the hell is going on!”

Lou clapped his hands together once, with a reverberating slap of flesh-on-flesh. “Then we know who to trust and we rescue Danny, and the scientists, and tear McCann’s little world apart. Right?”

“Right. Let’s go with this.” Steve commanded. “Get going. Lou- get hold of Kamekona, get him to head up to Rachel’s. I know it’s late but he can tell ‘em… tell ‘em he couldn’t sleep, wanted to be close. Something like that, right? He can take some shrimp for the HPD detail to keep ‘em sweet. Chin- get ahold of Jerry. Get him to analyse the recording of Danny’s phone call to see if he can get anything useful out of it that could help us narrow down his location. Kono- you talk to Duke. Tell him to get me a list of every HPD officer that’s had anything to do with the McCann case at all, on the quiet. Then get geared up, all of you. We move out in ten.”

As everyone went to work, Kono hesitated, touched Steve’s arm. Her eyes were wide and so, so sad. “Danny doesn’t think we’re going to be able to bring him home safe, does he? I never thought… it’s just hard to understand. He’s... he’s always been so _strong_.”

Steve scrubbed a hand down his face. “Kono… he still is! Don’t you see? This _is_  Danny being strong. He’s  _protecting_  us. And Grace, Charlie. All of us. He genuinely believes McCann would be willing and able to get to any one of us unless he stays right where he is. Stupid, self-sacrificing, stubborn  _bastard_ that he is!”  He growled softly.

Then he sagged down, leaned both hands on the tech table.

“Course I can’t blame him,” he said softly. “Look what McCann did to me. _And_ he had someone close enough to Grace to film her. This is my fault. I should have been expecting something like this to happen.”

“Steve… you can’t blame yourself for this. Please.” Her grip tightened a fraction on his arm. “This isn’t your doing. It’s all McCann. I just… I guess I can’t believe Danny’s given up like that. He has, hasn’t he? Given up?”

He put his hand over hers, throat closing, eyes burning as he spoke. “Yeah,” he croaked. “He has. But  _we_  haven’t.”

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Adrenaline was pumping through Steve’s system hard and fast enough to make him dizzy. The humid air billowed crazily around them, driven by the storm, whipping trees wildly as rain pelted down on the undergrowth. It was no night to be outside. Lying on his belly in the dark forest that surrounded the old pump station near Ewa Beach, Steve felt inexplicably as though he was closer to Spenser McCann- and Danny- than he had been since the mercenary strode out of his home wrenching the blond detective from their lives weeks earlier. McCann’s chilling presence seemed to linger in the moist, shifting air.

A shudder ran through Steve’s body as, once again, he suppressed the urge to run in shooting.

They were here for _intel_. They had to watch and wait. They had no idea what might face them here and the list of people they could trust to back them up had shrunk exponentially since Danny’s phone call. One person… they needed to take one of McCann’s people. _Quietly_.

Steve scrubbed a hand across his brow, wiping rain from his eyes for the hundredth time, then lowered his night vision goggles back into place. He threw a sweeping glance around him to ensure his team were all tucked safely out of sight, then focused back on the building.

The use of an abandoned pump station of all things- it was smart. The innocuous structure lay in a slight hollow a mere 500 yards from the main highway, but the rainforest had reclaimed much of the site since it had gone out of use decades earlier. A combination of dense vegetation and topography screened the place entirely from passing traffic. The location was remote and yet not too distant, bringing with it privacy but access to major highways. It was perfect from a strategic point of view. A perfect location for a base for… whatever McCann was planning. They had never fathomed the reason for his appearance on the island out, never understood his intentions, beyond snatching Danny Williams. Maybe, here, they were actually going to find out.

Yet niggling doubts remained in Steve’s head. He’d been ignoring them determinedly, clinging onto this as their big break… but they had been there for an hour so far- long enough to get soaked to the skin- and… nothing.

Yeah, okay, he really did have doubts about this. On the outside the place appeared for all intents and purposes to be entirely unused. No vehicle tracks, rusted locks. The windowless building was virtually a gutted shell, its exterior walls split, barely capable of supporting the roof. It was falling down and practically turning to dust from aged neglect. Could its interior really be sound enough to be of any use at all, let alone as some kind of prison?

They had seen no one. No sentries. No obvious surveillance cameras. Worse, they had picked up no heat signatures from inside whatsoever.

 _Basement,_ he insisted quietly to himself. _They must be in the basement._

But then again, the station _was_ on the list of buildings that had been checked and cleared by HPD… by whom exactly Jerry and Duke were hopefully in the process of finding out. But what if it all checked out? What if the building really _had_ been cleared? What if… and it hurt him to even think it… what if Danny had been wrong? What if Danny had been so terrorized by McCann that had made a mistake or, worse, had somehow been forced to give them mis-information.

Maybe it could even be a _trap_.

He turned his head abruptly as the thought hit him, glancing behind them into the darkness. Nothing. No unexplained movement amongst the wild waving of the vegetation, no heat sources.

No. He pushed the thoughts from his head because no matter what had happened to Danny, he was still _Danny_ and Steve _knew_ he could still trust him with his life. This place was right. It might look all wrong, but the intel was Danny’s and that meant it _was_ right. It _felt_ right.  

Steve could only pray that fate would now gift them one of McCann’s people… and thereby Danny’s location. If they captured someone who knew, they _would_ tell him where his partner was. There was literally no line he would stop at for that one piece of information.

Maybe, just maybe, they would see McCann himself. They would move in if they did, no hesitation. Steve would be hard pushed to restrain himself from ripping the bastard’s balls off with his bare hands and sticking them down his throat.

Steve didn’t dare let himself hope that just maybe, _somehow_ , Danny might be here too. If he was… if he was within reach… this could all soon be over. _God_ he needed that. He was exhausted. The endless gut-churning worry, the constant suppression of the images and emotions churning inside him because of the horrific knowledge of what Danny was going through. It was _fucking_ hard. He needed Danny to be safe. Once that happened… he could breathe again. Course he’d never let the man out of his sight again. Ever.

An image of the pair of them as old men, Danny bitching endlessly at Steve as he traipsed around on the shorter man’s heels in some retirement home, popped into his head and he almost laughed out loud. His eyes filled with tears at the very same moment.

He froze, bit his lip, shoving those ridiculous thoughts and counter-productive emotions back down where they belonged. Okay, there was a chance he was going a little crazy. “Report,” he breathed out in a monotone, needing to hear a grounding voice really, really badly.

“Nothing, Boss. All clear,” Kono replied immediately, voice tinny in his earpiece. Her vantage point was high but on the leeward side of the building some fifty yards distant, and nearest the edge of the tree line.

“Wait… Steve!” Chin exclaimed in a whisper a moment later.  “I’ve got heat signatures on the north side _within_ the structure. Where did they come from?! There was no one there a moment ago!”

Steve felt a surge of triumph and relief. Danny had been right! This really _was_ it… this was their chance! He began to move towards Chin, crawling low to the ground.

Chin, concealed in undergrowth opposite the entrance, kept up his commentary. “Three figures… they’re coming up out of the floor! And… they’re heading for the door! They’re coming out! Steve, you want to move in?”

 _Yes!_ Steve thought. “No, wait… just wait.” he said. He wiped the rain from his eyes again and cursed under his breath at the weather. At least it was providing additional cover of sorts, the screaming wind concealing any noise they might inadvertently make, but it made it damn hard to concentrate.

He flopped down in the mud beside Chin and focused on the activity down below them. Three figures had emerged from the building into the stormy night. They were male, well-built. Armed with AK-47s. Steve and Chin watched in silence as McCann’s men bustled to the leeward side of the building, sheltered from the worst of the wind and rain, and lit up cigarettes. The tips glowed red in the darkness. Steve heard Lou snort through his earpiece. “What, so McCann will maim you as soon as look at you but he runs a no-smoking workplace? Are you freaking serious?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It probably means there are explosives in the building, Lou,” he hissed. “Maybe McCann’s keeping more here than just the missing scientists.”

And then, finally, it looked like their luck was changing. Jackets pulled up around their faces, two of the three men made a break for it, braving the elements to get back inside the pump station. The door to the dark interior slammed shut behind them. The third man remained, alone. He lit up a second cigarette.

This was it, this was their chance.

Moving silently closer, Steve watched his target’s movements like a hawk. Lou was on his heels, Chin and Kono keeping them covered. And maybe some higher being was looking down on them with benevolence for once, because yet another stroke of good fortune followed right on. The cigarette went out. McCann’s man hunched over, trying in vain to relight the thing, then turned his back to them as he sought shelter from the gusting wind.

Steve was on him in an instant. The man wasn’t as unprepared as Steve had first assumed and a fierce scuffle ensued, mud splattering as the two men fought for control, booted feet sliding through for purchase on the rain-slick ground. Desperate to keep the alarm from being raised, Steve gritted his teeth against his twinging abdomen and growled dangerously as he slammed his foe down to the ground. He wrapped his legs mercilessly around the man’s torso, his forearm squeezing the thick neck. Another grunt… and the man went lax.

They had him!

Steve zip-tied him fast, then turned him over. He was out cold, but breathing, steady and sure. They had _him_!

It had gone like clockwork, easy. Almost too easy.

“Boss!” Kono suddenly hissed in his ear from her cover position, her voice urgent and enough to send Steve back into the shadowed corner of the building before he could drag his quarry away into the undergrowth.

“I’ve got movement on the tertiary road! Two vehicles approaching… “

“What?” Steve whipped his head up, looking northwards only to see approaching headlights.

“And there’s movement in the trees to the south!” Chin exclaimed. “And the west! Shit! And the east! I’ve got multiple heat signatures approaching _fast_! Do they know we’re here?!”

“Shit! McGarrett! Is it a trap?” Lou shouted to be heard over the wind.

“No. No!” Steve snapped, looking around desperately. “No _way_!”

At that, a shot rang out, then another, and then… all hell seemed to break loose. _Yes_ , the approaching figures knew they were there alright!  Bullets flew in all directions as Chin and Kono returned fire.

“What do we do, Boss!” Kono’s frantic shout was drowned out by the wind, but carried, static-filled, through their earpieces.

Steve swore vehemently. Their escape was cut off! They were effectively surrounded! He looked around desperately as bullets whistled around their heads. Then he looked at the building behind them. There was only one way they could go.

“Guys?” he yelled, fighting to be heard on the radio over storm and gunfire. “Come on, we’re going in!”

“What?!” Lou exclaimed, incredulous.

Steve blanked him. He risked standing for the few moments it took to haul their prisoner deep into the shadows of the crumbling wall. They’d have to leave him for now and hope he wouldn’t be found. He zip-tied the man’s ankles hurriedly then crouched back down. “Chin, Kono, we’ll cover you. Get here, _now_! If there are explosives inside we can even up the odds.”

It was fucking nuts. Running into a lair in which the bad guys had to know they were coming… but their hands were tied. There was nowhere else to go. Had Danny sent them into a trap? No, no. No, not a chance. Steve’s face twisted into a hard sneer as he dismissed the idea and focused instead on laying down covering fire for his teammates. One of the heat signatures running towards them through the trees stumbled and nearly went down. At least he’d winged _one_ of them.

The rest of his team on his heels, he burst through the pump station door, gun out in front of him, fully expecting to meet a hail of bullets. The room was empty. As the door slammed shut with the four of them still miraculously uninjured, there was no time for relief.

They were pinned down, with no means of escape and no back up coming. There were at least two men inside with them… somewhere. Steve pulled off his goggles and whipped out his flashlight, playing the beam around. It was empty… yet filled with the faint tarry aroma of plastic explosive. His light settled on a steel trapdoor in the floor, brand new and shining bright.

Sharp banging on the door behind them was silenced by a round of bullets fired out through splintering wood by Kono, her face fixed in a determined snarl.

In the moment that followed the team exchanged glances, their faces filled with apprehension and complete and total confusion. What the hell was going on?

 

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Steve pulled the trapdoor up by a mere inch before he dropped in a flashbang to clear the way for them. He slammed the thing shut again and pressing down on it with his full bodyweight, not even flinching as the concussive blast struck the metal hatch beneath his hand with a sold _bang_.

“Lou, Kono,” he barked out to his colleagues, who were facing the door, guns still drawn. “How much ammo you got?”

“Two clips,” Kono replied curtly.

“Same,” said Lou with a nod, speaking through gritted teeth. “What you got in mind, McGarrett?”

“You guys hold them off as long as you can. Shoot anything that comes through that door. If you run out of ammo follow us down the hatch. Chin, you’re with me. We’re going for more firepower. There are explosives here- we get enough, can take _anyone_ out.”

“Without taking ourselves out in the process?!”

Steve blanked Lou’s startled exclamation. He counted down another second then flung the trapdoor wide open, gun leveled down into the maw of McCann’s territory. The dilapidated building instantly flooded with light from below. Steve blinked wildly, fighting to focus through the glare on whatever lay beneath them.

Concrete steps, leading down to a concrete floor, concrete walls, a metal door frame, a metal door… the underground structure below the disused pump station was _all_ concrete and metal, all hard lines and cold surfaces.

Steve dropped down without hesitation, eyes everywhere, Chin on his heels. The trapdoor clanged shut behind them.

There was no sign of life. But there were at least _two men_ down there with them- they had _seen_ them go in here.

Steve scanned their surroundings. They were in a long corridor, multiple doorways off each side, every one sealed by a heavy metal door. Other corridors led off both directions at regular intervals. As he stood there, he realized the floor was vibrating under his feet and he sensed the distant tonal hum of generators far beneath them. There had to be yet another floor below this one. The place was  _massive_  and surely more than an old pump house.What was it then? Some kind of bunker? It wasn’t newly constructed, that was for sure- the now-stronger scent of plastic explosives mingled with the telling must of damp and rot.

However McCann had come by this place, the man could have a whole army down here and no one would ever have known. He could be keeping a hundred prisoners here. _Danny_ really _might_ be here.

Steve bit his lip to stop himself calling his partner’s name as a reflex. He had to stay focused. A loose plan had formed in his head and they needed weapons- ideally explosives- to extricate themselves from their current predicament in something approaching one piece.

Steve threw a flurry of hand signals towards Chin. _Cover me. We’re gonna hit one room at a time._ Chin nodded in silent understanding.

Heart in his mouth, poised for an immediate frontal assault, Steve reached for the first metal handle and pushed the door open.

It swung back with a cringe-inducing rusty squeal to reveal… nothing. A darkened room with dust on the floor. Steve swung his flashlight around to confirm the space was empty and moved on wordlessly to the next door.

Nothing. Then the next room… nothing. The next… _nothing_.

Cursing under his breath. Steve shoved open the fourth door. This room was different, packed with wall-to-wall shelves, each laden with tin cans. His beam played over them and he exchanged an incredulous glance with Chin.

Spam, peaches, pineapple, the designs of the labels recognizable from his own childhood. The place had to have been disused since the early 80’s. It was like a snapshot in time, perhaps a bolthole for someone with a bottomless pit of money who wanted someplace to take refuge from a theoretical apocalyptic cold war nuclear winter. Steve could almost sense the paranoia pervading every nook and cranny.

Another door- more canned goods, plus a stack of ten gallon drums floor to ceiling along one wall. Steve pulled one down and opened the lid, hoping for something flammable.

It was water.

Another door- another empty room, and this time he heard Chin swear softly behind him, clearly as frustrated as he was. The distant rat-a-rat of repeated automatic gunfire up above them was punctuating every moment. They needed armaments and they needed them _now_. The urgency was thrumming through them both.

Another door and at least it was something different- a table, a bed. Unmade, unused. Useless. This was getting old, fast.

Another door… but as Steve shoved it open impatiently, it bounced right back in his face, _hard_.

The impact sent him down to his knees. Gasping in pain, he was vaguely aware of shots ringing over his head and reverberating around the enclosed space deafeningly.

_Shit._

He shook his head to clear it, tried to wipe the gushing blood from his eyes, then gave up, raising his own gun and firing at the shifting blurs in the room over and over again until they stilled. He felt a strong hand close on his shoulder.

“Steve? It’s done. You okay?”

Chin’s voice penetrated the fog and Steve nodded, then wished he hadn’t because _fuck_ that hurt! “Yeah!” he muttered softly. “Yeah.” He tried to push himself to his feet but fell back, his head spinning, his healing injuries cramping and twinging as he moved. He could almost hear Danny berating him. _What is the matter with you! You have a team, remember? You should be taking it easy, you know that, right?_

“Shut up, Danny,” he hissed, unthinking.

“Easy, brah. You good?”  Expression stern, Chin patted his shoulder. He was on edge, wary, his eyes measuring Steve from top to bottom, assessing and evaluating, clearly unhappy.  

Steve nodded again, blowing out a shaky breath and wiping blood from his eyes once more. He pressed fingers to his forehead and felt a gaping cut. _Shit!_ He reached up a hand, letting Chin help him up this time, then glared down at the bad guys responsible. Three shots center mass for each. They wouldn’t be answering any of the questions the team had, that was for sure. _Fuck._

“Okay. Okay, that’s the two we know about,” Steve breathed out resolutely. **“** That plastic explosive has gotta be around here somewhere.”

Two more empty rooms left them cursing… but, in the next one, they hit the jackpot.

McCann had enough weapons stockpiled to start a small revolution. AK47s, MP5s, Uzis. Handguns too; Desert Eagles, M9s and ASPs, not to mention grenades, flashbangs and enough C4 to take out half of Honolulu. Rolls of plastic explosive were stacked behind the door. Steve stared, jaw hanging. What was McCann planning here?! His gaze settled on an RPG7- a rocket-propelled grenade launcher designed to take out tanks. A twisted smile grew on his face.

“Just how long has McCann been at this?” Chin asked incredulously. 

Steve grinned grimly at him. “I don’t know, buddy, but I think we just evened up the odds! Let’s load up and get back upstairs. McCann’s not gonna know what hit him!”

“Hello?”

Steve and Chin froze, exchanging a glance. The unfamiliar voice was male… and weak and scared.

Finger to his lips, Steve grasped his gun and began to move.

The door of the next room was wide open, not secured in any way whatsoever, and Steve blinked in surprise because inside, unrestrained, was one of Spenser McCann’s three known captives. Steve recognized him in an instant. “Professor Mercier!” he exclaimed.

“Danny was right,” Chin whispered discretely. “The Merciers  _are_  here.”  There was a tone of relief in his voice, too, but Steve wasn’t ready to return it.

The man in the room was seated a desk, papers sprawled out in front of him, pen frozen in mid-air. He was staring at Steve and his bloodied face like the SEAL had beamed down from another planet. Steve looked around the room hastily, gun tracing his movements. There were no guards. Bunk, toilet, desk, chair… that was it. No guards and the room was open. Why the hell was the man just sitting here like this?

Glancing back to ensure Chin was covering them from the door, Steve lowered his gun.

“You're Professor Mercier, right?”

The man nodded shakily.

“Okay. We’re Five-0. We’re cops. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“I … I heard an explosion. Then…  gunfire,” Mercier said, his French accent strong. Eyes wide in fear, his jaw dropped open as he looked from one to the other. “M-McCann… he is dead?”

Steve shook his head. “No. But we  _will_  get him. We can do it, you have my word. Right now though, we need to get you out safely. "

The man gaped at him in disbelief. “Y-you don’t have McCann?! Do you have my daughter? My Isabelle? She is in here. Somewhere. Downstairs, I think.”

“No, but we’ll find her too. Professor, do you know how many men McCann has here?”

“Three. He has three,” the man breathed out.

Steve nodded at him, smiling encouragingly. “OK, we’ve dealt with three already. If you’re right the building’s already clear. We just have to worry about the ones on the _outside_.”

He turned his head to face his Asian team mate. “Chin, go scout ahead, see if you can find Professor Mercier’s daughter. I’ll get these weapons up to Lou and Kono- they’ve got to be running low on ammo by now. Be careful!”

A nod and the Asian man was gone.

Steve looked back at the old man. The guy still looked completely shocked, like he thought he must be hallucinating. But a barrage of gunfire from above underlined the fact Steve had no time to mess about. They needed to get that weaponry to their frontline.

But then there was Danny….

“Professor Mercier, is there another man being held here?” Steve didn’t even attempt to keep the hope out of his voice. “Blond hair, blue eyes? He’s called Danny Williams.”

Mercier stared at him in confusion. “What? _No!_ There is nobody else. McCann has me, he has my daughter, that is all. He made me build this… this _weapon_ -” he paused, shaking the pile of paper on the desk in front of him in agitation- “ _Merde_! And I am _not_ permitted to leave the room until he has detonated it! He needs me to complete the last stages of the program!”

Steve, hollow with disappointment at the lack of intel on Danny, didn’t absorb the man’s subsequent words for a moment or two… then his blood ran cold. “Wait?! What did you say?! What weapon?! Where is it?!”

“It’s… it’s a binary chemical weapon. Difluoride and isopropyl alcohol. But where they assembled the parts… je ne sais pas, je suis _si_ désolé.”

Steve shook his head in horror. “Difluoride and… _Jesus_. But when that’s set off… those combine to make _sarin_!” And the man didn’t know where it was? Jesus _Christ_!

“I had no choice! _He. Has. My. Daughter_! You must understand! He is the devil! He intends to murder thousands! But I had no choice! I have to obey him!”

“Okay. I understand, I do understand,” Steve soothed. “If your daughter is here, we’ll find her. We’ll get you both out of here. Come on, we need to get going.” He plastered a kind smile on his face to cover the focused desperation he was actually feeling. “Are you fit enough to help me move some equipment, Professor? We need to take some resources upstairs to the rest of my team.”

Something strange happened to the old man’s expression. The initial shock and disbelief of seeing a battered figure in uniform, someone claiming to be his savior, dropped away. In its place a look of utter terror swept across the lined features.

“NO!” The scientist shouted.

Steve frowned in confusion. “What?!”

The French scientist shook his head hard. “I am not allowed to leave this room! It is _not_ permitted! He leaves the door open always and it is a _test_. You try to _trick_ me! I cannot step through the doorway! I must obey. If I disobey… _terrible_ things will happen to my daughter _again_. He will let Walker touch her _again_! He will _rape_ her and _torture_ her! He does _not_ make empty threats and I must obey him! I can’t! I can’t leave the room! You must leave me here!”

Steve’s jaw dropped and a chill ran through him, because echoes of the things Danny had said to him on the phone were unmistakable in the panicking man’s words.

He blew out a shaky breath. “Okay, take it easy,” he said, trying to project calm and confidence for all their tenuous position, trying to get through to the man. “Listen to me. We’re going to find your daughter, we’re going to get you both out of here and we’re going to protect you from Spenser McCann. Do you understand me?”

The old man began to tremble as he sat in place. The pen dropped from between his fingers, rolled off the desk and onto the concrete floor. “NO! I AM NOT PERMITTED TO LEAVE!”

Steve stared at him in shock. McCann had the guy scared out of his wits! But they needed this man, they needed to debrief him properly… plus Steve was now responsible for his safety and he couldn’t be left behind! Heavily outnumbered as they were, it seemed unlikely they would retain control of this facility tonight even if they did make it out in one piece- if they left Mercier they would lose him. They _had_ to take him with them.

Steve took a cautious step towards the terrified man, his hand out-stretched beseechingly. The scientist jumped from the chair as Steve came closer and it clattered loudly over. He started to back away from Steve towards the wall, shaking his head, his hands raised high. “I can’t leave! It is not completed! He needs me here, I have to be here!” Then the man’s voice broke, tears filling his eyes. “They are _animals_! _Monsters_! I am _not_ allowed to walk through that door! It is forbidden! You _have_ to leave me here! You _have_ to!”

A muffled explosion from above had both of them looking up at the ceiling.  Concrete dust drifted down on them, glinting in the fluorescent lights as they swayed in reaction to the concussion. The never-ending barrage of distant, discordant pops sounded like a small battery of firecrackers.  Time was running out.

Resisting the temptation to go and shake sense into the man, Steve holstered his weapon and held up his palms, nearly miming the scientist in kind. He looked carefully at the man, meeting his gaze with the calmest expression he could muster despite the blood he could feel tracing a hot path down one cheek.

“It’s okay,” he soothed softly. “We’ll find her. I can keep you both safe if you give me a chance.”

But his words simply weren’t getting through. Mercier’s eyes widened in utter terror. “You cannot keep _anyone_ safe! McCann is _everywhere_! _You can_ _’_ _t_! He’s always watching, even when you can’t see him! If I leave this room they’ll hurt her again! Even if we escape from here, he will _follow_ and he will _hunt us down_ and punish her for my disobedience! _Listen_ to me!”

He was staring wildly at the door, hyperventilating, face reddening and _Jesus_ he looked as though he was going to have a heart attack.

Steve’s guts twisted. McCann’s sick tricks had fucked with Mercier’s head just like they’d fucked with Danny’s, and he was actually refusing to be rescued.

Danny had said goodbye to save the people he loved… and God help him, Mercier was trying to do the same damn thing.

Steve could _not_ let it happen.

He started to walk over, slow and careful; all of a sudden it felt like there was a hell of a lot more than the life of Professor Mercier riding on this.

“Listen, my colleague - Lieutenant Kelly - will find her. You can trust me. I know you’re scared but you can trust me.” He stepped closer and closer, then reached out to touch the old man’s arm.

Mercier froze as soon as the tips of Steve’s fingers made contact with his skin, and Steve gasped at the depths of fear he saw in the man’s eyes. The old man was desperate - at the end of his rope - and petrified beyond belief.

“You will  _not_  make me leave!” There was a pregnant pause and then Mercier coughed, his lips twitched.  His panicked eyes lit up and he laughed out loud, maniacally, as if some secret joke had come to mind. He looked insane, all logical thought entirely absent. 

“He cannot hurt her if I  _never_ leave!” He raved as spittle flew from his mouth.

Steve stared in confusion as Mercier began to laugh hysterically, the pitch warbling within the confines of the small room.  He bent forward, his posture projecting confidence and conviction, his focus entirely on regaining Mercier’s attention.  

Steve opened his mouth to offer the man more assurances of safety …. of trust … but then he felt something tug at his hip. He glanced down, then shouted out in horror... but he was too slow.  His own gun went off just inches from his face and blood dotted the wall behind the scientist. Steve was left staring in shock as the elderly man slumped to the ground. He dropped to his knees, frantically tore Mercier’s shirt out of the way revealing the full extent of the gaping wound on the old man’s chest. He swore, pressing frantically down on the source of the arterial spray but he knew, he already knew, this was not survivable. _The guy had shot himself from point blank range in the heart_.

Steve watched helplessly as the light faded from Mercier’s eyes in moments. He shook his head in denial, lifting bloody hands from the scientist’s body.

_Mercier had been so scared of McCann he had just killed himself to avoid being rescued._

And then Steve’s mind when straight to Danny. But it would be different with Danny. It _would_ be. Steve _knew_ him. But, as Steve stared at the blood on his own hands, the sick feeling of doubt welling up inside him was undeniable.

“I got her, Steve! I’ve got the daughter. She’s pretty beat up. I’m bringing her upstairs.”

The unexpected sound of Chin’s voice over his earpiece had Steve closing his eyes.  _Fuck fuck fuck._ IF they’d found her two minutes earlier, if he’d just  _lied_  to the woman’s father… maybe, just maybe this fucked up situation would never have happened. The futility of the old man’s death was hideous. Thinking quickly, Steve backed out of the room, wiping his hands down on his black combats and slammed the door shut.

Seeing her father like that would not help the girl now.

In a haze, shaken to his very core, he ran back to the weapons stash and began pulling together the items they needed to take upstairs. The sound of gunfire was still going strong but the time between exchanges was growing longer.  They needed to hurry.  

“Steve!” Chin’s breathless voice had him turning. He turned to see Chin with a woman draped over his shoulder. He ran to help, and he and his panting team mate laid her down, so softly and gently.

“Easy. You’re okay,” Chin whispered soothingly, but she scuttled away from him the moment his hands left her body.  Within seconds, she was watching them - her fear nearly on par with that of her now-deceased father - trembling as she pressed her back to the wall. She was in her thirties- Steve knew that from the limited information INTERPOL has shared with them- but she looked like a scared little kid, mouth clamped shut and eyes filled with tears. She appeared to be clad in nothing but an overlarge black shirt that Steve recognized after a moment as Chin’s. A sparkling silver chain around her neck, gaudy and expensive, was a bizarre contrast to the story of abuse written across her body. Steve took in the bruises on her wrists, marring her neck, smudging her inner thighs. He saw the haunted look in her pale blue eyes.

He crouched beside her, opened his mouth to say… something. But then the guns at the top of the stairs fell absolutely silent and that unto itself was deafening. Worry spiking to a new high, Steve and Chin exchanged a glance.

“Lou, Kono, report!” Steve barked into his comm link.

There was no reply. Steve swore as he looked up towards the trap door, re-loading his gun, automatically moving to shield the woman with his body. How much worse could this possibly get?

“Lou? Kono? Come in!” he said, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Steve?” Kono’s voice was quiet. Strained. “Steve, stand down.”

“ _What_? Kono, please repeat.”

“Steve. _Stand down_.”

The trapdoor creaked open, the dark space above revealing nothing and both Steve and Chin raised their weapons as one, their resolve steely as they waited, yet ready for anything.

“Lay down your weapons gentlemen. You have a lot of explaining to do.”

The voice was unmistakable, and Steve gaped in disbelief.

It was Agent LaRouche.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Outside, the storm might have finally broken but the dark oppressive atmosphere lingered on. Maybe it was just in Steve’s head. He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare, heart rending disasters happening over and over around him no matter what he tried to do.

He was an unwilling audience of one to a sickening montage, stuck on repeat. Professor Mercier’s terrified face, his desperate final act, his daughter’s haunted eyes, her bruises- an undeniable physical testament to her ordeal. The torture the pair had been through, physical and psychological, at the hands of the very men who still had Danny was nothing short of horrific.

Steve looked around again anxiously. There had to be prisoners. There had to be someone to question. Time was of the essence now. Yes, they had dealt a major blow to McCann by removing the Merciers from his clutches, apparently before the chemical bomb was complete, and finding his weapons cache…. But now McCann knew they were on to him. There was a damn fine chance he would alter his plans, move his operations around immediately in case his people had been captured and had talked. And not only that… McCann would want to know _how_ Five-0 had found out about the pump house.

Danny could be in even more danger than he had been before.

How did this go so monumentally wrong? Steve shook his head slightly.

The paramedic who was in the process of gluing his forehead back together grunted in annoyance and Steve muttered an apology. Trying to keep his head still, Steve cast his gaze around the chaotic scene, fighting to _understand._

The meandering, overgrown road leading to the building was now filled end to end with vehicles and blue flashing lights and it should have been a fucking huge relief because their asses had been hauled out of the fire… but it was all just so _wrong_.

There were so many questions needing answered. This shouldn’t have been possible. He needed to get things straight in his head, it was all such a fucking confused _mess_.

 _No one_ had known where they were coming here. Not even Duke, or Adam, or Jerry. Those trusted few might have been asked to help, told to trust no one… but the team hadn’t shared their destination with a single soul. Yet McCann had known they were here. INTERPOL had known they were here. HPD had known they were here. And he had been so damn careful! He was sure they hadn’t been followed!

For _McCann_ to know... how could McCann have known?

_He’s always watching, even when you can’t see him!_

Professor Mercier’s words seemed fucking accurate right then. Steve snorted, refusing to allow McCann to being to take on larger-than-life proportions in his own mind too. He was just a man. He had either planned this, using Danny to draw them into a trap, or he had them under surveillance, or he had been tipped off.

Steve didn’t even want to consider the trap option, the implications hurt too fucking much. Who could have tipped McCann off? They already suspected a mole in HPD… was it as simple as that? Five-0 had lain in wait for more than an hour before they had been attacked- that would be enough time for McCann to launch an attempted counter-offensive if he’d been tipped off in good time.

Steve needed to find out how and when HPD and INTERPOL had come to know Five-0 were here.

Mind whirring, he watched distantly as Isabelle Mercier was loaded into the back of a second ambulance complete with INTERPOL escort. She’d been hysterical and had been sedated. At least she was safe now. Her ordeal was over. Grieving, and then healing could begin. That was _great_ … but if only, _if only_ it had been Danny they had found.

And in amongst it all, now they had a deadly chemical weapon to worry about?

Finally, some intel about McCann’s grand plan and it was monstrous, _whatever_ his target was. They had suspected the attack on the Iolani Palace months earlier might have been a dry run for something… and combine that with the fact the scientists McCann had helped himself to were chemical weapons engineers… yeah, it should have been obvious that a plan of this type was on the cards. But what were they meant to do about it?

Five-0 needed people on their side. They needed to trust _someone_.

He looked around for his own team. They had been right with him. He’d maybe lost some time. _Jesus_ he was tired. His focus was all over the place.

Prisoners… that was the priority, he reminded himself. There had to be prisoners. Some of McCann’s men had to have been captured. Maybe his team were already shaking them up. Steve was going to rip Danny’s location out of them the _second_ this was done. He winced as the paramedic pressed the dressing down over his new injury, closing his eyes for a few self-indulgent moments.

When he opened them again, Agent LaRouche had materialized in front of him, fury radiating from her every pore.

“LaRouche!” Steve said instantly. “Did you get any of McCann’s men? I need to….”

LaRouche cut him dead. “Professor Mercier is dead.” She stated the fact like an accusation, and every bit of fury, frustration and resentment he had ever felt towards the woman reared right back up.

He nodded tightly, struggling to keep his temper in check. “Yes he is. He was terrified. He took his own life.”

She glared at him for a few seconds before replying. “I’ll need a detailed statement from you about that. Now, there were designs for a chemical weapon in the room with him. Do you have any idea if it has it been built?”

“He said it had before he… died. But that it was incomplete.” Steve breathed out, looking down at his boots for a moment.

Her eyes narrowed. “Did he say where it was?”

“Nope.”

LaRouche stared at him incredulously. “Okay. Do you want to tell me what the hell happened here tonight, Commander? Where did your intel come from, why wasn’t I informed and why did you move in here without adequate support?! The outcome would have been completely different if _we_ had led on this. You are nothing short of incompetent!”

Steve’s nostrils flared as he suppressed the urge to smack her in the face. He pushed himself to his feet, towering over the INTERPOL agent aggressively. “That’s rich coming from you! You’ve told us virtually nothing, right from the _fucking_ start! You know what? I have a question for you too. You want to tell me how you knew we were here?!”

LaRouche stared at him for a few long moments. “We’ve been monitoring your movements,” she admitted, not the slightest edge of apology in her tone.

“What?” Steve exclaimed. “ _You_? _INTERPOL_ are surveilling us?”

She nodded. “We have trackers on your vehicles. That is all. Our monitoring team noted unexpected movement patterns tonight and informed our department. We closed in on you to ensure your safety.”

Steve nodded a few times, sticking out his bottom lip. “I see. And are you going to tell me INTERPOL called in HPD too?”

LaRouche nodded, her face giving nothing away. “Our advance team arrived and contacted both us and HPD for back-up when they saw the urgency of the situation. Your team was pinned down and taking fire.”

Steve blew out a breath, fighting to make sense of the sequence of events. “Okay, tell me this. _When_ did your people contact HPD?”

LaRouche turned and stared at him strangely. “When? After the shooting started. But my people tell me there was a patrol in the immediate area already, coincidentally.”

Steve stared right back, trying to gauge her reactions. The distrust passing between them was mutual, that was for sure, but it could be, it _might_ just be that _all_ of this distrust should be aimed at HPD. “Coincidentally, huh? You believe that?” he tried, testing the water.

LaRouche pursed her lips, face giving away nothing. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Commander.”

He poked a finger in the air, then went for it. “Okay! I’m thinking it’s real hard to know who to trust right now. McCann always seems to be two steps ahead. That’s all. Now you want to tell me why were you tracking us?”

She smiled humorlessly. “Like you say, Commander. McCann _does_ always seem to be two steps ahead. It seems we may be thinking alike here. But am I sensing you suspect a leak in HPD? We have no specific intel to suggest that might be the case. I guess we need to put our heads together, don’t we?”

Steve shrugged, still uncertain. He had to trust someone, _had to_. But it was a lot to ask when his partner was at risk like this. “Maybe. Listen, I need Danny’s location first, before I think about anything else. We _need_ to get him away from McCann. I need to talk to one of your prisoners. How many did you capture?”

“Unfortunately McCann’s people appear to have got away cleanly,” LaRouche responded, frustration written across her face. “They retreated before we had sufficient numbers to encircle them and appear to have made good their escape.”

Steve’s face twisted in total disbelief, his stomach dropping in horror. “You didn’t get _anyone_?! Do you have people in pursuit?”

She sighed deeply. “We have cars working the area. And we have a helicopter en route. But no trace has been found of anyone involved so far. Now Commander, McCann plainly knew you were coming. If we hadn’t been monitoring you, you would be dead, it’s as simple as that. It appears to me you may have been set up tonight. So Commander McGarrett… are you going to tell me where you got your intel? Who was your source?”

Steve stared at the woman. Yes, he _needed_ to trust someone… but not with this. He simply couldn’t take the risk. He couldn’t reveal what Danny had done. He thought fast.

“We’ve been studying satellite coverage,” the lies came out easily. “We were going through images earlier and noticed activity here. Wanted to check it out right away.”

There was a hesitation. “I’ll need to see those images, Commander.”

Steve nodded. Jerry could put something together, he was sure. He was going to owe the big guy yet another favor after this, he could see it coming. “Fair enough. And I’ll need to speak to Isabelle Mercier… when she’s well enough. I'd like to speak to her anyway. You know, reassure her if I can. Say... something anyway.”

LaRouche nodded in accordance. “Of course. We’re taking her to our own private facility where she’ll be safe. Rest assured if she has retained any pertinent intelligence I’ll inform you immediately.” She shook her head, shooting him a sidelong glance. “It _is_ a damn shame we didn’t take anyone alive here.”

And then Steve’s jaw dropped. So much had happened, he had forgotten about the first man they had taken, the man who’s decision to light a second cigarette had sealed his fate! The man who might pull them out of the clusterfuck of a situation, tell them where Danny was, and tell them where the bomb was too. Maybe… _maybe_ he would still be there.

Wordlessly, Steve turned and strode back towards the building, LaRouche hot on his heels. He muscled past the forensic teams who were moving in and out of the pock-marked doorway, working his way to the shadows of the leeward side of the building.

He stopped, staring. There was his prisoner, still tucked away in the shadows out of sight, still secured wrist and ankle with zip-ties. But he wasn’t going to be talking to anyone.

A single bullet hole in the center of his forehead, muzzle burn betraying it as a close up execution shot.

He was dead.

Steve swore, then swore louder, then put his hands on his head and looked up at the now starry night sky, shining down between shadowy leaves and branches.

All this, all of this and _Danny was still on his own_.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny’s back was pressed to the bedroom wall, his breath coming in short gasps.

The power had come on again some time earlier- the lights were on, the TV was on in the other room… the cameras were back on. There was nowhere to hide.

He was terrified.

His miscalculation had been monumental. McCann would know what he had done. The man knew _everything_. If anyone he loved suffered because of him… he punched out at the wall beside him, so mad at himself for his moment of weakness. What if it had all been a test? What if Leon had been told to leave the phone in the bathroom by McCann to see what Danny would do?

He would be made to suffer for this, and he would deserve it for his stupidity. His own fate- and he now knew this _was_ his fate- he was McCann’s for good and there was no escaping that- was irrelevant. He simply didn’t care what McCann did to him anymore.

But now Grace would pay, or Charlie, or Steve, or Chin, or Kono, or Lou, or their families. McCann would cross any line. He was unstoppable.

A distant hum made Danny start. Oh God… it was the elevator. Someone was coming! He pressed harder against the wall.

And footsteps… McCann’s, they were _his_.

A furious voice, something _smashing._ McCann was _angry_!

Danny shook his head mutely, eyes wide with fear.

Silence followed, a silence that stretched into minutes and Danny was so close to scrambling to his feet, to seeking out his master and dropping to his knees and apologizing just the way he’d been taught in the vain hope McCann might show some mercy.

Then soft footsteps approached his door. It pushed open and it was Leon who was standing there.

“He wants to see you.” The man said, gruff as ever. His expression was guarded but Danny saw right through it. Leon was _scared._ His eyes asked one clear question…

_What the hell have you done?_

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so this was pretty much two chapters sandwiched together to get us back with our boy. Don’t say we’re not kind. OK, we’re horrible, but in a kind way.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

 _He had contacted Steve. He had given him intel. He had defied McCann. He was so_ stupid _! If McCann knew what he’d done…._

As Danny limped along behind Leon to face the music, his heart was pounding like a drum, his legs felt like jelly and he was panting for breath, sweating profusely. It was going to be obvious he had something to hide. _Obvious_. But he was so damn scared he just didn’t seem able to hide his distress.

The tsunami of devastating loss at the knowledge he’d never see his loved ones again was on the horizon but barely registering yet, all but eclipsed by the terror that McCann would punish those very same people for Danny’s sins.

He would do anything, _anything_ to prevent that from happening.

 _Please don’t let him know, please don’t let him know!_ It seemed a vain hope as Danny, wide-eyed, took in the shattered glass cabinet, the splintered end table in the livingroom, testament to McCann’s current fury.

It registered that Leon was leading him to the _bathroom_. McCann was waiting for him in the bathroom? Why was he in the bathroom? He ever only wanted Danny in the bathroom to fuck him up against the shower wall and this didn’t seem the time for... _that_. Was it?

Then the door was open and Leon was pushing him through, hand lingering on his shoulder for the shortest moment.

Time was up.

He came to a stumbling halt, blinking up at the imposing figure of McCann. The mercenary, dressed head to toe in black, was just standing there, waiting, looking down at him in silence. His eyes were blazing, fury emanating from him, tension in his every line. Danny saw his jaw muscles working and _fuck_ this wasn’t good.

Uttering a faint whimper, Danny dropped to his knees and bowed his head, _desperate_ to appease the livid man. He’d do _anything_ to make McCann calm down, to make him happy. He shuffled forwards, reached for the mercenary’s fly, more than prepared to take the man’s dick in his mouth voluntarily… but before he could grasp the zipper, McCann shoved his shoulders hard, pushed him away.

Danny landed on his back on the tile, gasping in horror at the overt rejection, because that really was _not_ a good fucking sign.

He could feel McCann glaring down at him, mute, and he tried not to shake so hard, tried not to give his terror away or McCann would _know_. Danny scrambled carefully to his knees and bowed his head once more, hastily averting his eyes. He was terrified. Genuinely, completely terrified, with no idea if McCann knew what he’d done, no idea what McCann wanted, or how to appease him. No idea how to keep his loved ones safe.

He waited, fear building inexorably towards outright panic in the unbearably tense silence. McCann leveled no accusations, offered no lewd instructions. Did nothing to end Danny’s suspense. By the time he spoke, Danny was almost curled over on himself with dread.

“Your team did this,” McCann growled, hate and disgust spat out with every syllable. “Fix it.”

Danny looked up in surprise at the unexpected words to see the mercenary shedding his shirt. Danny’s jaw dropped. The material was black so he hadn’t noticed the blood before… but now he stared in shock at the wound on McCann’s arm. It was clearly from a bullet – a deep crease.

Fiery gaze drilling into the blond man, McCann perched himself on the edge of the white sink beside a small pack of limited medical supplies. Then the older man simply waited for Danny to react, watching intently.

Danny shook harder still. But he knew better than to disobey, or delay in responding. Biting his lip, eyes flicking discretely up to McCann’s to try to ascertain if he was doing the right thing, he stood slowly, stepped forwards and began to root through the first aid kit

The man was giving nothing away. 

He didn’t want to do it, yet he found himself gently tending to the wound despite the way his hands were shaking. Cleaning it carefully, dressing it.

His mind was racing. One of Five-0 had done this? Something had happened… a shootout? Because of the phone call? And… McCann was _here_. Did that mean the team hadn’t made it?

Stomach heaving at the thought of what might have happened. Danny trembled violently, he couldn’t help it, couldn’t suppress it. His vision blurred as he stared blindly at his task, willing himself to finish faster and just … be done with it. Be done with touching McCann. He blinked hard as he tried to focus on the bloody tear which was finally disappearing under the white gauze he was wrapping awkwardly around McCann’s bicep.   Beneath Danny’s bare feet, bits of bloody gauze and medical tape littered the bathroom floor. 

His nausea only mounted as he intentionally stared at the white of the bandage as a slender smudge of pinkish-red flowered up from underneath. He refused to meet the older man’s eyes as he was watched avidly. Had he done the right thing? His own heart-beat was loud in his ears as he prayed that he had.

Done, he took half a step back, but McCann came with him, wrapping long fingers tightly in Danny’s hair. He yanked hard, forcing Danny to look him in the face. His expression was one of such raw fury that, for a moment, Danny thought McCann was going to kill him then and there.

“There’s my good boy,” McCann crooned instead, an ugly parody of a smile on his face. His voice was dripping with sarcasm. He was still pissed as hell.

“I have a dilemma here, Danno,” the bastard said, tilting his head to breathe the words against Danny’s neck. “You see in a lot of ways, you’re everything I’d hoped you would be. You’re a fucking good lay- you’ve learned your job well. You’re a gutsy little shit too and the process of breaking you is just…,” he paused, groaned wantonly, “So, so sweet. I can’t deny that.”

Danny shuddered involuntarily as McCann licked a track up his neck, bit the shell of his ear softly. But then McCann growled loudly, temper flaring back up in a fraction of a second. He twisted a leg round the back of Danny’s calf and shoved him backwards so the blond man tripped and slammed into the tile floor.

Danny lay where he’d landed, eyes wide with fear, as McCann glared down at him.

The mercenary bared his teeth aggressively. “But right now I’m so _fucking_ angry with your team I could just slit your throat right here and now and dump your body in your partner’s bed just to see the look on his _fucking_ face, on all their _fucking_ faces.”

And scared as he was, Danny could have _laughed_ , because those spiteful words meant Steve was alive! The team was alive! And… if it was the _team_ he was angry with, did that mean McCann didn’t know about the phone call? Didn’t know what he’d done, or what Leon had done? He almost sobbed in relief… but then Danny absorbed the rest of the words.

Dying didn’t sound like too bad an option right then, but the rest… no. He didn’t want that.

McCann wasn’t finished. He bent down, peering in Danny’s face as though to watch his reactions in minute detail. “And then of course I’d have to decide which of your people to replace you with….”

That was too much. Danny could have cried. He shook his head helplessly, all his darkest fears rising, threatening to overwhelm him. He was trying, he was _fucking_ trying to do the right thing no matter the cost to himself, but McCann had him by the balls. He was playing with him like a cat with a mangled mouse. As he stared in the face of the man he hated and feared so much, he felt a flare of anger ignite somewhere deep inside because he was exhausted, fucking exhausted by all this. All he wanted to do was protect the people he loved and McCann was making it so _fucking_ hard.

“NO! L-leave them,” he exclaimed reflexively, voice raised. On seeing McCann’s eyebrows lift incredulously, he took a deep, tremulous breath, changed his tone consciously to something more befitting the pathetically submissive character he was obliged and willing to portray.

“You have _me_. P-please. Leave them. I’ll do _anything._ ” He pushed himself tiredly to his knees, adopting the submissive posture McCann so favored. He glanced up through his lashes, praying silently.

McCann was staring down at him, expression cold and calculating. Then something shifted, a glint shining in his eye like the best idea in the world had just come to him, and fuck Danny hated it when that happened. A slow smile grew on the mercenary’s face, and this time it was genuine.

“You don’t want to go home any more, do you?” said McCann lightly. “You want to stay with me. You know everyone is safe when you’re with me, making me happy, taking my dick any way I tell you to. Am I right, Danno?”

And, maybe ‘want’ wasn’t the right word, but Danny had accepted the inevitability of his fate now, so the effect was the same. “Yes,” he croaked, bowing his head lower.

“Yes. WHAT?”

“Yes, sir,” he corrected himself, stomach twisting itself in knots.

“You know that _you’re_ only safe when you’re with me, too? You _love_ me. You can _trust_ me. Not like that arrogant bastard partner of yours. He doesn’t understand you. You hate him. You’re _scared_ of him.”

Fucking insane, McCann was actually fucking insane! Not a word of that was right! That would _never_ happen, never, _any_ of that. Danny opened his mouth to agree with him anyway, because he _had to,_ and they were only words and words meant nothing… but he felt the intensity of McCann’s gaze, felt his power. It felt like McCann was in his head again, like he was reading him. Like he would _know_ if he lied again. He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t answer, certain that McCann would hear the blatant lie. He stuttered, searching for words.

McCann snorted at his ineloquent response, then stepped closer, stroking Danny’s head tenderly, blowing hot and cold in the most unpredictable of ways. “It’s okay, Danny,” he whispered softly. “I know you don’t believe all of these things… _yet_. But you will, I promise you that. We’ll get there.”

Danny frowned in complete confusion, mouth opening and closing. McCann didn’t believe that… did he? He might have complete control of him, but he could never change the way Danny _thought_. That was _crazy_.

“Hey, petal, do you want me to fuck you now?”

And that question was closer to familiar territory. Danny automatically nodded beneath McCann’s hand and, Jesus Christ, he actually meant it. If McCann took him now, it would feel like all was well with their little arrangement. McCann was happy again, Danny’s family were safe.

“Sorry, Danno. I’m not in the mood.” McCann’s tone was cold and flat and Danny thought he might actually throw up. He didn’t understand what game McCann was playing with him here, not even remotely.

“I have things to attend to. Go to your room. There’s a bottle of water there for you. Drink it all down like a good boy.”

McCann ducked his head down, kissed Danny’s temple softly. “Love you, petal,” he murmured, before stepping back and sweeping past him. The penthouse door slammed closed a few moments later.

Danny knelt there in the bathroom, alone, blinking in confusion, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

He gave in, pushed himself to his feet and moved obediently through to the bedroom, passing the smirking armed men without a glance. There was no sign of Leon.

Danny lay down on the wide, soft bed. He could smell McCann on the pillow, feel the patches of dried fluid on the sheets beneath him from hours earlier, could remember in vivid detail how they had come to be there. He felt a strange sense of loss- it had been rough, it had hurt… but he had known his place, understood what McCann wanted of him. And now… felt as though he was adrift.

He shook his head slowly. How fucked up was that- he would have felt better if McCann had just raped him like he usually did. At least he would have known where he stood.

Feeling scared and unbalanced, Danny searched out his special spot on the wallpaper and made his mind wander to happier places.

Time drifted. He thought about the people he was leaving behind. He missed them so much it hurt. He hoped they would forgive him for what he was having to do. He simply had no choice. Surely they would see that?

He huffed out a quiet breath as the volume was turned up on the TV in the other room, slowly allowing his attention to move over to deciphering what had been garbled background noise into meaningful words.

_"So, according to a spokesperson from the governor’s office, a raid targeting an industrial premises identified as suspect from satellite images has resulted in a victory for law-enforcement over wanted mercenary Spenser McCann. The kidnapped scientists were found, although their conditions have not yet been made public. It’s looking like the wanted man, Spenser McCann, may have had his plot foiled, all thanks to the efforts of the Five-0 task-force. Moments ago, our reporter managed to get a few words from Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett earlier outside the newly-rebuilt headquarters at Iolani Palace. Here’s Nohea.”_

_“Commander, this was a great bit of police work and the people of Hawaii are truly grateful. Do you have anything you’d like to say?”_

_“Yeah. Yeah I do. Our job isn’t finished here. McCann is still at large and my partner is still missing. McCann… if you see this, know that there is nowhere you can hide. I’m going to catch up with you.”_

Danny closed his eyes, shivering as he heard his best friend’s voice again. No wonder McCann had been so pissed. Five-0 had done it. They had found the scientists. And Steve had done just as he asked and made the discovery of the pump station site seem fortuitous, thank fuck. Of course he had.

God, Danny missed him so much. The very notion of what McCann had said, that Danny would come to fear his friend- it was insane. It would simply never happen.

_"Commander, Detective Williams has been missing for over a month now. Do you have reason to believe you’re going to find him_ _alive_ _?_ _”_

There was a silence and Danny tensed.

 _“I’m sure he’_ _s still alive and we_ will _find him and bring him home. We will_ _._ _”_

_“It's great you’re so confident. But are you concerned for his welfare now? Do you think there’s a risk McCann will mistreat him as a consequence of tonight’s operation?”_

_“Danny is a strong and resourceful man who loves his family and his friends with all his heart. I know he’ll find a way to survive until we get him back.”_ Steve blatantly didn’t answer the question and Danny knew how scared his friend must be for him right then. With good reason. 

_“If, somehow, he’s watching this wherever he is, do you have anything you'd like to say to him?”_

Danny stiffened and blinked his eyes open, wishing with all his heart he could see Steve’s face. There was another drawn out silence.

 _“_ _Commander?_ _”_ the female reporter prompted.

Danny heard Steve clear his throat.  _“Yeah. Yeah. Danny. Buddy. J-just hang in there. I know it must be… difficult. Just… hold on. I know you. I know you can do that. We’re not gonna stop looking for you. No matter what, that’s not going to happen. We’ll get you home and everything will be fine. I can keep everyone safe, you need to believe that…. We love you, Danny.”_

That familiar voice was thick with emotion in an unfamiliar way and suddenly Danny’s own emotions threatened to bubble up to the surface. He bit his lip,  _hard_.

_“Commander! Commander! I have more questions for you... well, it seems McGarrett is a busy man, no doubt off to continue his investigation. Of course as everyone knows, there is a substantial reward available for any information that leads to the apprehension of McCann or the recovery of Detective Williams so keep your eyes open, people. Now, back to the studio…”_

Danny closed his eyes. He smiled, just the smallest amount, gleaning more pleasure than he had thought he was still capable of feeling from the simple fact of knowing for sure that Steve was still in one piece, still out there, fighting the good fight against all the odds just like he always had and just like he always would as long as there was breath left in his body.

Of course the stubborn bastard would keep looking for him. But Steve’s rescue couldn’t happen. There was no way Danny could leave McCann as long as the bastard and his second-in-command were alive. It was just impossible.

His mouth was dry, and he reached for the bottle of water that had appeared by the bed and took a long drink. McCann had said he was to finish it, so he tipped it up again and drained the contents.

Seconds later, the room began to swim around him.

He flopped back on the bed, horribly dizzy. Facts joined together in his mind. The water was doctored. McCann’s plans had suffered a blow…. Of course. They were moving. They would dope him if they were going to travel, it made sense.

He could only hope McCann would need to withdraw from Oahu altogether to regroup, maybe abandon his plans completely. Danny would be leaving everything he knew… but that meant McCann and Walker would be leaving too. The people he loved would be safe again and that was all that mattered.

 He lay back and waited helplessly for the darkness to take him. 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Steve lay limply on the settee, arm over his face.

His abdomen throbbed in pain from over-exertion and his eyes burned behind closed lids. He heard a noise, opened his eyes with a start… but there was nothing untoward there. Chin and Lou were working away diligently at the tech table. Kono had to be asleep. They’d been doing this for weeks now- sleeping in shifts, taking it in turns to catch an hour or two in corners of the office. Steve was jumpy, felt like there were eyes on him. It was just the combined effect of too much caffeine and virtually no sleep. Probably.

But McCann had known, how had he known? Was he surveilling them? They’d swept the office and their homes early on for covert devices, but had they missed something? Or had that HPD vehicle up by Ewa Beach spotted them moving in and informed McCann? Was it as simple as that? Or _had_ it been a trap all along?

And who had shot that fucking prisoner? The ballistics report wasn’t back yet, but Steve was already willing to bet they would be struggling to match the signature marks on the slug to a known weapon.

There were so many questions and, as yet, complete dearth of answers and it was frustrating as hell, to put it mildly.

The fallout from the pump station was ongoing; the forensic teams were still in there, there were autopsies to do. Maybe, just maybe, they might yet get a lead on Danny. As he lay there, the island was being searched intensively again, torn apart, in search of traces of the shadowy figures who had melted into the darkness hours earlier. Steve had casually arranged some of the search teams in a pattern that centered on the mast at Manoa- the mast Danny’s call had bounced off- rather than the pump station. He’d had a range of excuses lined up, but no one had called him on his decision... McCann had proved so slippery no one was going to question any left-field tactics.

But the area to be covered was so huge, the chances of a positive result on either Danny _or_ McCann’s men seemed remote. Five-0 were torn, wanting to join in the search, needing to try to ID possible moles… and needing to fucking _sleep_. The situation felt overwhelming and desperate.

A vicious stab of pain between his eyes had him grimacing in pain. He was supposed to be sleeping now. He _needed_ to sleep. But how could he sleep? He was terrified for Danny- he’d either been manipulated into sending them into a trap, or he’d risked everything to give them intel. Either way, his partner would be living in fear of the many possible repercussions of what he’d done. What would become of him? McCann might even _kill_ Danny in retribution for his tactical loss.

Danny was in untold danger, and with no way to help him, it felt like he was slowly slipping away from them. They simply had to find him. Nothing else mattered to Steve. Chemical weapons, marauding mercenaries… they were barely registering. He had to find Danny and put an end to his best friend’s suffering.   

They needed… _something_.

Hours had gone by since the raid and it was now well past dawn.  Steve had provided a vague statement to the media when cornered on his way back from briefing the governor. He’d glossed over what the real truth of how they had found McCann’s facility in keeping with the lie he’d told LaRouche. Without knowing how, he’d managed to remain somewhat objective.  At least until the damned reporter had asked him about Danny.

Then, Steve’s brain had stuttered to a halt.  She’d said he’d been missing a month. _A month_.

Steve intentionally rapped his forehead with his knuckle, needing an immediate physical manifestation of the pain he was feeling inside. Still, he’d lied well to the reporter.  The raid had been a failure in his mind though; one life saved indeed, and some intel gleaned, yet an abysmal failure. Another life lost in the most horrific of ways, a chemical weapon out there, somewhere. Worst of all, no intel on Danny, so far at any rate. No clues as to other addresses McCann might be using, no prisoners to interrogate. Damage _had_ been done to McCann, yet it felt like McCann was still in control. 

Steve was waiting to hear about the general health and welfare of Isabelle Mercier, hoping he would get to speak to her soon. She might not know much, having been kept the way she was- locked up for McCann and Dylan to use and abuse as they saw fit… just like Danny. But he needed to touch base, speak to her, see how she was. See how Danny might be when they eventually got him, and he couldn’t let himself doubt that they would, for the sake of his own sanity. But Steve didn’t even know where she was. Her location was being kept quiet by INTERPOL ‘for operational reasons’.

He got it, now. LaRouche didn’t trust anyone any more than they did, but still, _fucking_ INTERPOL. He didn’t know whether it was simply terrifying or bizarrely reassuring in a way to know that they felt as out of the loop as Five-0 did.

And a fucking _chemical weapon_ , almost complete. Where was it? What were they planning? Had the loss of the Merciers sabotaged their intentions altogether, or was the grand plan still on? Steve knew he should care more about the bigger picture here but it was all easily eclipsed for him by Danny. He rubbed tiredly at his face while heaving in a sigh and replaying things through his head yet again. Still stuck on a terrible loop inside his mind, inter-mingled, were Mercier’s death, his daughter’s face, and that murdered mercenary. Danny’s call still came first … and then last. It was something the worst nightmares were made of.

Steve grunted in pain as he shifted uncomfortably on the settee.  His eyes remained closed, his expression pained as he cycled endlessly through the night’s distressing events yet again. 

The elder Mercier had committed suicide and he managed to get his hands on Steve’s weapon to do it. Now IA would have to look into how it had happened, as if there wasn’t enough going on. He wasn’t worried about that, didn’t give a shit even if they blamed him. No one could blame him more than he did himself. But the _way_ it had gone down was the worst thing of all, the way the professor’s words had so closely echoed _Danny’s_ words…  but it _wouldn’t_ be like that with Danny. It couldn’t be! Danny wasn’t Mercier, Danny was strong. Yet Professor Mercier’s desperate final moments wouldn’t leave Steve for a second and his mind was full of niggling doubts. He would _not_ let that be Danny. He’d seen the effect McCann’s hold could have over somebody, and he wouldn’t be taken unawares again. When they found Danny he would assume nothing, be ready for anything. Nothing would prevent him rescuing his partner, whatever had happened to him, whatever McCann had told him, whether he wanted to come or not. The rest… they could worry about once he was safe.

“Fuck,” Steve mouthed. _Goodbye_. Danny had said  _goodbye_.

A soft knock on his door had Steve scrambling to sit up.

Jerry- it was Jerry. The great bear of a man, his face lined with exhaustion and stress, shot Steve an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, boss. I didn’t think this could wait.”

“You’ve got the satellite images for LaRouche?” Steve guessed. “If you email them direct to…”

“Yes, yes I’ve done that already,” Jerry interrupted impatiently, like faking satellite images was the easiest thing in the world. “But I did something else.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow at his friend. “What is it, Jerry?”

Jerry frowned worriedly, peering around Steve’s darkened office as though McCann might be hiding in the corner in person. He shrugged helplessly, apparently unable to overcome his paranoia that they were being overheard, and simply handed Steve the paper in his hand.

“I’ve finished last month’s crime stats, when you get a chance to look.”

Steve’s face creased in confusion. He glanced down at the paper, then did a double take.

It wasn’t crime stats at all. It was a report, a summary of someone’s financials, sections underscored several times and littered with question marks. _Jerry had found something_.

At the head of the page was written _HPD Officer Trent Davies_. Steve looked back up at Jerry, his tiredness suddenly falling away.

Jerry shifted awkwardly, wrapping his arms around his generous frame. “So I was… uh… _also_ thinking, if you have nothing to go on right now, maybe we should interview all the officers who’ve been assigned to protect the Edwards family? We know McCann was watching Grace at the start. Maybe he’s tried again? Maybe they saw something that might be helpful but just didn’t realize?”

Steve smiled slightly, a fraction of the reaction he was feeling inside, as he grasped just what Jerry was trying to tell him. Officer Davies was on the protection detail. Officer Davies finances were setting the red flags flying. And yes, Jerry’s clumsy suggestion would be a way to speak to Davies without alerting him to their suspicions too early on. He wouldn’t have time to run. It was perfect.

“I don’t know, Jerry,” he replied anyway, playing along with the subterfuge for the sake of the hidden cameras Jerry clearly believed were all around them (and God, maybe he was right). “It’s a reach. They’re cops. They notice things like that.”

Jerry pulled a doubtful face, eyes finally resting on Steve’s. “Yeah. I think at least one of the officers from the detail was up at Ewa Beach last night, so I guess you maybe had a chance to speak to him then. But I think it would be worth touching base with the others in person.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Just an idea.” 

Steve nodded slowly, mind racing. Officer Davies had been at the pump station too? He held Jerry’s gaze and somehow managed to answer true to the rest of the weird conversation. “I guess, Jerry. I’ll think about it, okay?”

Gripping the report tight, Steve blew out a shaky breath, his adrenaline ramping up to off-the-scale. This was it. He had a name, a mole, a direct link to McCann.

_Officer Davies._

If Davies knew where Danny was, he was going to tell them. Steve’s nostrils flared. Davies _would_ know, he could feel it in his bones.

This was it. This was what they had been waiting for all along. They were going to find out where Danny was and bring him home.

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Steve forced himself to look relaxed and calm. He was leaning against the wall of the rendition room trying to look bored, trying to look like this was simply another routine interview in a long line of routine interviews. He looked down at his nails, picking at one absently.

In his mind he was pacing like a caged tiger.

He had remained mute the entire time Lou had been questioning Officer Trent Davies. The man in question was relaxed and confident. He was buying the premise, accepting that Five-0 were carrying out routine interviews of _all_ the officers involved in the protection detail. That they were being understandably over-protective of Danny’s family.

They hadn’t shown their hand yet. They were giving him the opportunity to dig himself deeper before they revealed everything they had on him. Interrogation 101.

Davies had raised the red flags, sent alarms blaring left, right and center, once Jerry had done little more than scratch the surface of his superficially blemish-free career.

His arrest rate was good, his conviction rate was good- that meant he put together solid cases - he was a _great_ cop from a technical point of view. But he had been a beat cop for 15 years, no promotions, so his income wasn’t spectacular. He had two ex-wives and a grand total of five children… yet he owned his decent-sized home outright, had a pretty new deep-sea fishing boat and an extensive collection of single malt whisky.

It was subtle. Not that over-the-top spending wise if the guy managed his money carefully, but it had been enough for Jerry to check a little deeper. He found Davies had no savings accounts. He spent his entire paycheck every single month on alimony and bills. And he’d had no notable inheritances or winnings. It all just seemed a little wrong.

Thirty minutes after realizing all this, Jerry had discovered Davies’ false identity, his secret bank account, the regular payments from an as-yet unidentified account holder in Macau that began six months before the  _first_  time McCann had darkened Oahu’s doorstep.

And the guy had spent much of the last four weeks volunteering for unpaid overtime watching over Gracie and Charlie.

 _Unpaid_  overtime. He barely even  _knew_  Danny. Their paths had only crossed on a handful of cases. Why no one had questioned that, why no one had wondered about his motivations…. Maybe his Sergeant had thought the man just really wanted to help out for the greater good, or perhaps assumed Davies had a thing for Rachel.

But no, it was none of that. Steve had no doubts about the real situation. Davies had been instructed by McCann to get himself in a position where his proximity to Danny’s family could be used to manipulate and cajole the Jersey detective.

Steve wanted to kill Davies, to tear him apart. He wanted him to feel every iota of pain and fear Danny had to have gone through, unable to fight back because of this back-stabbing, traitorous piece of shit who would never again have the honor of calling himself a police officer.

Steve paced a little faster in his head, tried to project the demeanor of disinterest even harder. One hand drifted to the butt of his gun in a way that might still pass for casual.

_Stop it! You’re an animal!_

Steve shook his head, aiming a sarcastic look at his internal Danny. Fuck he missed him. He gritted his teeth together so hard his jaw ached.

“Look,” Davies was saying, long-suffering. “I get you have to be thorough and check everyone out. But you have nothing to be concerned about with me. I feel like I have a real bond with Detective Williams’ family, you know? I’m just happy to help out, it feels wrong expecting payment the whole time for that. The family is safe in my hands, you have my word on that.”

“That’s reeeeal magnaminous of you, Officer Davies,” Lou drawled, dead-pan. “If only there were more folks like you in the world.”

Davies nodded in acknowledgement.

“But at least you’re getting a little variety still, right? You were at Ewa Beach last night. Right?”

“Sure. Routine patrol. Thought I’d head up that way. You get gang-bangers in the area- I thought I might get lucky and hook me a fish! I’m low on arrests this month, what with having been on that protection detail so much. You know how the powers-that-be get when your figures drop.” The cop smiled winningly, oozing sincerity.

Lou smiled back, nodding like he got just exactly what Davies was saying. “But then you ended up getting involved in our little op instead?”

Davies shrugged. “Just on the fringes. When the call came in to back up INTERPOL, I responded, said I'd set up a checkpoint. I closed the road where I was to make sure McCann’s sons of bitches didn’t sneak out in one direction at least. I’m just glad I was in the area to help out, you know?”

Lou glanced back towards Steve. That made a whole lot of sense. No wonder McCann’s guys had slipped away without a trace if they had a buddy on hand to keep a back door open for them. Steve nodded at Lou. He’d had enough. It was time to reel Davies in, see how easy the guy was gonna make it for them.

“Course we’ve been doing a little checking,” Lou said, real casual. “And one of the reasons we decided to have a chat with you was that we saw you had two exes and no owed money. That’s an achievement in itself. I’m pretty damn sure you have a good reason for that, though. So let’s tick the box. Give us the reason and you can go.”

Davies nodded slowly, eyes flicking cautiously between the two men. “What can I say?” and he was trying real hard to sound casual too. “I’m careful with my money. I save. It’s surprising how far a cop’s wage will go when you watch what you spend.”

There it was. They had a lie on tape, one they could prove was a lie. He _wasn’t_ careful with his money. He _didn’t_ save a dime. He wouldn’t be able to claim the financials were a set-up, that he knew nothing about those payments at all. He wouldn’t be able to play dumb. 

 _They had him_. They _would_ break him.

Steve pressed his back to the wall harder. It wasn’t time for him to do his thing yet. It was still Lou’s turn. Steve had to let it play out, wait for his cue. Lou was good. Not as good as Danny. Never as good as Danny. He bit down on his lip, battling his base instincts.

“Now that’s real interesting. Savings, huh?”

“Sure.” Davies nodded.

“I do the exact same thing, for the kids’ college funds, you know? What bank you use?”

Davies hesitated. “It doesn’t really matter. The interest rates are all similar, right?”

“Right.” Lou agreed with a chortle. “But I hear the interest rates are pretty good in Macau at the moment. You hear that?”

Davies easy posture tensed instantly. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his head.

They had him, they _fucking_ had him and he _knew_ it now.

“Okay, I can explain,” he said.

“Oh please, do,” smiled Lou. “This I want to hear!”

Davies mouth opened and closed a few times. Nothing. The guy actually had nothing. It was like he knew he’d been sucked in. He’d made a monumental, unrecoverable mistake and now his mental processes had simply frozen. He looked away from Lou, gaze settling on Steve, then drifting to his gun. His eyes opened wide and he whimpered in fear.

“Steve?” Lou said, waving an arm at Davies with a flourish. “I guess he wants to speak to  _you_ now.”

Steve didn’t hesitate. He went for the kill, pouncing like the caged animal he was right then. Storming over, he grabbed the guy by the throat and pressed back, back, back, until Davies’ neck was bent way too far and his distressed, gurgling breaths echoing around the enclosed space.

“You’re gonna give me everything, you little piece of shit,” Steve growled in his face, spittle flying. “ _Everything_.  _Now_.”

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

The penthouse suite on the 56th floor of the  _fucking_  towering Meridian Hotel that overlooked fucking  _everything_  in downtown Waikiki.

They had known Danny was at the south end of the island when he’d made that phone call, but  _Jesus_! When Davies broke, when he revealed McCann had had their friend locked up in five star accommodation 2.67 miles from the freaking Palace this entire time… it physically _hurt_ to know just how close Danny had been.

Steve was damn sure Davies’ intel was right. The sniveling man had been so terrified of the enraged SEAL he had actually wet himself before stuttering out the locations of several premises the gang were using.

And then the jackpot- the location of McCann’s personal lair, the place he’d apparently had Danny from the day the detective was taken.

Davies was still talking now- Steve had abandoned the interview the second he had a location for Danny and left the rightly terrified soon-to-be ex-cop in the hands of a flustered Agent LaRouche. Maybe she’d find out where the chemical weapon was, maybe she’d find out if McCann had anyone else on the payroll. But there was no way to say if Davies was party to enough of what was going on for them to achieve those key objectives.

LaRouche had wanted Five-0 to wait, wanted them to hold off moving in on the Meridian until they knew _everything_ … but there was no way. The time for subtlety was over. Once McCann realized Davies had been compromised, he would be on the move for sure. And no way, just no way, was Steve willing to leave Danny in McCann’s clutches for a single second longer than necessary. For all they knew, McCann was touching Danny right that very moment, hurting him, abusing him. It had to stop.

Steve gave not one single crap about anything else. Not LaRouche, or the plot, or INTERPOL. Nothing mattered, nothing but Danny.

They had to get Danny out of there, away from McCann. It _wouldn't_ go down like it had with Mercier. Steve could reassure Danny, tell him his kids were safe from the HPD mole. And if they could get McCann and Walker at the same time? Steve could tell Danny his kids were safe,  _period_. His partner’s ordeal, the ordeal Steve hadn’t let himself dwell on the details of at risk of losing his own sanity, was about to end.

The ache in Steve’s healing abdomen was easily forgotten now his body was newly flushed with adrenaline. He and the Five-0 team were moving in on the hotel with hand-picked back-up from HPD. They drove steadily along with the traffic, no lights or sirens. They couldn’t afford to arouse the suspicion of anyone watching from the penthouse.

Steve’s eyes constantly searched out the towering hotel as he drove, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He caught glimpses of its imposing form between buildings. He suddenly wondered if Danny was looking out of a window right then. An image of his partner looking down on the city through lost and empty eyes assaulted him and Steve’s breath caught in his throat.

They came to a halt a block away, vehicles round the corner from the hotel, and encircled the building quietly and discretely. The officers on the loose outer cordon were in civvies, disguised as a tramp, a loved-up couple, a man yelling into his cellphone, _anything_ they could come up with at short notice that didn't scream 'cop'.

The hit teams moved in, silent and determined, keeping under cover until they stormed into reception, then hushing startled guests and employees.

The team had already established the hotel's simple layout. There were only two access points to the penthouse itself; an elevator and the emergency stairwell, both secured by access code. Hitting the place without letting anyone sneak out past them should be straightforward. Unfortunately, defending the penthouse from inside would also be a breeze in the short-term; until McCann's people ran out of ammo at least. All McCann would have to do was shoot anyone who came through those two doors. And if all else failed? He had a hostage to use.

Speed and surprise were everything; Five-0 were hitting the place hard and fast and _hoping_ McCann didn't know they were coming.

Chin, on point, physically grabbed hold of the hotel manager in reception.

Breathing hard, _needing_ action, Steve looked up sharply as the harried man called out loudly, his hand extended as he offered them a pass key to override the security on the penthouse lift. Two strides later, Steve pulled it from the manager's hand, anger and stress clearly showing.

"I- I had no idea this was going on! But they kept to themselves and the access cameras are all down; they’ve been down for months," the hotel manager was in the process of claiming to Chin. He looked embarrassed, flustered and instantly alarmed when Chin shoved him into the hands of another officer.

"Hold him for questioning," Chin demanded of the HPD Sergeant as the small portly Hawaiian gaped his mouth wide open. "Cuff him. _No one_ leaves the hotel." He offered the newly upset man not a single word of reason, but Chin was well within his rights when it came to an upscale hotel not having a functioning security system. Chances were the manager was being well paid by McCann too.

This was it. They were going in hot.

Chin and the fittest HPD officers they could pull out began the daunting ascent of the emergency stairs at a steady jog. No one would get past them.

Steve took the elevator, Lou and Kono by his side. They watched in silence as the floor numbers, glowing red on the digital display, rose steadily.

_11, 12, 13_

Steve felt eyes on his back and turned to see Lou staring at him. The big man met his gaze, glanced down towards his abdomen. Steve was clutching it without realizing, and yes it still hurt.  Lou quirked an eyebrow, asking a silent question.

_Are you sure you’re up to this?_

Steve narrowed his eyes, not bothering to answer. He was sore, it didn't matter a shit. He’d been up for two days straight with about an hour of nightmare-ridden sleep preceding the latest marathon shift. Not exactly a recipe for a fast recovery. But he had to be here and Lou knew it. He turned back to the display.

_32, 33, 34_

Steve’s gloved fingers began to toy with the solid grip of his gun. Sweat was soaking through the neck of his shirt and dampened the material under the weight of the heavy tac-vest.

His heart was in his mouth and he was buzzing with adrenaline. He was going to kill McCann. Tear him apart with his bare hands.

_43, 44, 45_

“This is it. We’re gonna get him back. He’s gonna be fine. He’s gonna be fine,” Steve found himself muttering out loud. He bit his lip to shut himself the hell up. There was a pause before anyone reacted to his involuntary statements and Steve’s stomach twisted when no one jumped in to agree with him.

“We’re all gonna be there for him, boss,” said Kono, a distinct waver to her voice.

Steve closed his eyes, glad he had his back to his teammates, because yeah, how could Danny possibly be ‘fine’ after weeks in the clutches of an animal like McCann? An animal who had made no secret about the fact he intended to use Danny as his personal bed toy?

“We’ll take him as we find him,” Lou chipped in quietly. “Kono’s right. We’ll be there for him, whatever it takes. And for you. And for each other. Right?”

Steve nodded brusquely. “Yeah,” he choked out.

_53, 54, 55...._

56, and the elevator dinged, doors sliding open.

Heart beating wildly, Steve rolled out low without hesitation, weapon primed, finger on his trigger, fully expecting an instant firefight.

Nothing. No reaction. No sound.

They spread out in silence moving left, center and right to clear the luxurious penthouse. Living room, kitchen, bathroom, meeting room, bedrooms. Master suite.

Nothing. There was nothing. The place had been cleared out. No luggage, no possessions. No McCann, no Walker, no INTERPOL agent. _No Danny_.

They were too late.

“No, no, no, no, no! Fuck. Fuck!!” Steve swore venomously. "Chin! The place is empty! You got any activity on the stairway?"

_"Twenty-fifth floor. Nothing so far. No movement, Steve.”_

"Fuck," Steve hissed though his teeth. "Kono, Lou, you head down the stairs. We’ll catch ‘em if they’re there. Get HPD searching every floor, every freaking _room_. Go. _Now_."

Kono nodded brusquely and the heart-broken expression on her face suggested she couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to.

Illogically unwilling to admit defeat, Steve circled the penthouse yet again, throwing open cupboard doors, pulling out drawers, crashing around in a desperate fury looking for something,  _anything_. He thundered through the open door of one of the smaller bedrooms, then stumbled to a halt, panting hard. There was something different about this room, he realized with a start. It was even more sparsely furnished than the others. There were no cupboards, no desks. Nothing but a huge bed, sheets askew.

It was a room for someone with no spare clothes, no possessions.

There was nothing portable. No lamps, no ornaments. Nothing that could be lifted- nothing that could double as a weapon.

The evidence added up incontrovertibly in his mind. This was it. This was where Danny had been held.

He looked down at the huge bed, the pillows in disarray, the rumpled cream silk sheets. Nausea grabbed him by the throat and squeezed tight. He couldn’t let himself think about this, about what might have happened here. But standing there, he couldn’t  _not_  think about it anymore.

He yanked the covers back. The musky smell of sex hit him at the same moment he saw the envelope sitting on the stained undersheet.

It was addressed to  _him_.

Eyes wide, he pulled a pair of black latex gloves from his pants pocket and pulled them on. He lifted it slowly, eyes resting for a moment on the stains beneath. His nose identified them for him instantly and bile rose in his throat.

Blood. Semen.

He knew. He just knew who they came from, what had happened in this bed. He knew why the envelope had been placed right  _here_. He understood the statement McCann was making to him. Eyes filling, he opened the envelope with shaking hands.

He pulled out the neatly scrawled note from inside.

_Nice work. But I win the only part of the game that matters to the two of us, don’t I?_

 

 

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Danny roused just as the deep tonal hum ended, leaving a resonant sensation inside his core. He opened his eyes, likely at the precise time McCann deemed that he should based on the man’s methodical ability to dose.  

Muzzy-headed, Danny was lying on his side in a dimly lit room, at first staring mindlessly at a round window surrounded by a rich darkly colored paneled wood.  It was all distinctly unfamiliar. He hadn't seen this place before and, though he thought that he should, Danny couldn’t remember when things had changed. 

Events came back to him slowly. Five-0 had struck back at McCann. The mercenary had been off-the-scale pissed, unpredictable. Had rejected him in the most confusing on ways. Yet here he was, still alive, still a prisoner. McCann must still want him.

He could never go home.

Grief knocking at the door, Danny focused dully on his surroundings in a vague attempt to distract himself.  He was no longer in the penthouse, that was certain. There was the questionable smell of dampness, a dank fishiness and a strong scent of salt water. 

Lying there, Danny wondered absently at the odd pitch and yaw of his body until his brain finally kicked in and told him why.  Then, he almost laughed at his own stupidity.

He was on a boat. McCann and his team were fleeing by sea.

The room was empty though. Not even Leon was present, staring at him as he usually did.  Likely everyone, including McCann, had been above deck as the engines were cut. 

Danny thought about all of these things with a detached mind, hardly even caring where they might be now. With an effort, he crawled himself to a seated position. A wave of nausea beyond that which was a constant presence in his new existence hit him and he hung his head between his knees, breathing hard through his nose until the intensity lessened.

He was dressed at least. Wearing more clothes than he had in too many days to count. Danny catalogued the heavier shirt and pants, completely without emotion when he realized that he’d no idea how that had happened. McCann might have dressed him for all he remembered now. And what did it matter?  What the hell did any of it matter, now? He had given up _everything._

He sat, unsure what to do, unsure if he wanted to do _anything_. What was the point?

But it was the way he craved his chance at _air_ which finally got him moving. Fresh air, untainted by the scent of McCann, for the first time in… however long they had had him. Eons.

At first unsure if he dared go topside without permission, he finally did only when he realized that a pair of boots in his size had been left by the bed. If McCann had provided him with the means, he must have intended Danny to search him out. Almost dumbly, Danny shoved a foot into each.

Fresh air … wind … the cold spray of water hitting his face made him gasp out loud after he awkwardly stumbled up the three or four steps to the main deck then leaned heavily on the rail.

He breathed in deeply, straining his lungs to almost taste the freshness of very real air and relishing the dizzying beauty of the night, only vaguely surprised by the darkness.  

It was so different from his weeks of complete entrapment and the attack on his senses nearly sent him reeling.   Unsteady on his feet and utterly disoriented, Danny heaved in shuddering breath after shuddering breath until his head began to clear. Then he squinted into the dark, eyes tearing, until he could just make out the tangle of a wild coastline and the white of what seemed to be heavy surf.

For a moment he thought of jumping clear out of the boat. He'd probably drown, weak as he was. But McCann’s threats of replacing him with Grace should he ever leave by _any_ means were right there, ever present and inescapable. Death counted, he supposed. He couldn’t take the risk.

Danny looked around again, finally thinking to wonder where he had been taken. They were approaching a rocky coastline. A dense forest, eerie and gray in the night. He could see nothing more. No lights, no buildings, no boats.

He swallowed hard, saying nothing as he braced himself into a corner in an attempt to get his bearings. Wherever McCann had brought him to, it was remote. There wasn’t a sign of habitation or of people. _Nothing_. It reeked of an eerie solitude and even the men on the boat were silent as they prepared the small launch for shore. 

As his head cleared more in the fresh air, Danny carefully looked around, mentally tallying the fact that McCann had less than half his men present. Counting Leon, there were just four others.

Dylan Walker was there, of course, staring at Danny, his face shadowed and unreadable. Danny shivered, feeling hate radiating from the man.

“Let’s go,” a gruff voice announced from behind and Danny felt himself propelled forward, but his legs were still shaky from whatever strong drug McCann had given him. He stumbled and nearly fell getting into the smaller boat, needing to be held up by Leon on one side and another of the men on the other.

He watched dully as the rainforest drew ever closer, trying to zone out, trying to find that happy place he’d now crafted in such detail in his mind. The beach. Grace, Charlie, whooping with laughter. Steve teasing him, blatantly hoping for some banter. But the images seemed distant, hard to fix on. A lump grew in his throat.

He missed his strip of wallpaper so badly it hurt.

There was no real beach when they landed at the little pier. There was only a narrow swath of rock-laden gravelly sands, just steps from heavy jungle, its undergrowth thick and darkly forbidding. Things were decidedly worse on land.  If not for the rickety pier, the place would have felt downright primeval.

“Where are we?” Danny murmured quietly, more of Leon than of anyone else. There was no answer though and he felt distinctly out of touch from reality. Lost.

Danny cringed back when he felt McCann’s shadow fall over his face nearly at the same time of his soft query.  He kept his gaze downwards, his vision murky as he stared at his booted feet, until rough fingers carded through his hair.  Then, Danny's head was forced up to meet the older man’s beaming face, his smile a thin façade of sincerity. His entire demeanor reeked of danger. 

McCann had to be enraged inside by the turn of events.   The unthinkable had happened- he had been pushed back. His plans had been disrupted.

Danny felt a raw edge of fear. He didn’t know McCann like this. He didn’t know how he would react, what he would do. Who he would take things out on.

_Not Grace, not Charlie, not Steve. Just me._

That was all that mattered, and he reminded himself of those key facts. Tried to picture those treasured faces.

“Welcome to my private home away from home, Danno,” McCann said, his tone even for all his teeth were visibly gritted in controlled fury. “I’ve had this compound for years and it’s my personal slice of paradise. We’re due for a bit of R&R, don’t you think?”

Knowing better than to disagree with the seething man in front of him, Danny simply nodded, then let his head drop as soon as the mercenary released him to stalk away across the rock-strewn beach.

There was movement to Danny’s side as Leon grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the narrow path which was barely visible inside the depths of the jungle.

“Walk,” Leon growled into his ear. “It’s far enough and he won’t stop to rest.  The shit is just starting to hit the fan.”

The walk was difficult in the dark, the narrow trail alternately rocky and then deeply rutted. After almost a month of inactivity and with his system still contaminated by drugs, Danny was virtually dead on his feet by the time they arrived at their destination. He needed every ounce of help which Leon begrudgingly gave him.

Covered in sweat and aching from head to foot, Danny blinked at the surreal vision that materialized amongst the trees.

The rambling single-level building looked old yet pristine, all fresh paint and clean windows. The roof looked _wrong_ , and it took Danny a few moments to identify the camouflage netting that covered the entire structure, extending outwards from the side of the building here and there, in random, meaningless patterns.

It looked bizarre… but it made sense. It would make the place hard to identify on satellite coverage. Smart. McCann was always smart.

Danny dropped his head again as he was pushed in through a door, eyes fixed to the polished wooden floor.

He was exhausted. He listened distantly as Leon was instructed to escort him to the master suite, then obeyed his own instructions carefully. Boots off, clothes off, into the bedroom, into the bed.

He lay there, waiting in the four-poster mahogany bed, eyes drifting around the opulent room. It was packed with antique furniture and ornaments. So many things he would once have used as weapons without hesitation, ready to do anything to get away. Now he would do nothing to get away. Now he knew he had to be with McCann. This was his fate.

His gaze drifted to the window. There was no tear in the wallpaper. No little flap. Would McCann notice if he made one? Did he dare? He didn’t know.

Danny closed his eyes seconds before he simply curled in upon himself beneath the plush comforter, his aching head pillowed on one arm.

He drifted, never noticing when McCann finally entered the room until he felt the play of roughened fingertips running across his chest. The soft touches set his heart pounding because McCann was still in a rage and Danny could very well feel that frightening aura surround him despite the misleading feather-light tap dance of fingertips over his bare skin.

“I know you’re awake,” McCann murmured as he stood over him, his breath now scented by scotch.

Danny opened his eyes and saw the mercenary standing there, tumbler of amber liquid in hand.

“What do you want me to do,” he asked meekly, just as he’d been taught. His eyes melded to the one button he dared look at on McCann’s shirt and stayed there, until his chin was suddenly grasped and tilted upwards.

“Sit up,” McCann demanded.

As Danny propped himself up on one elbow, McCann lifted the tumbler of scotch to Danny’s lips.

“Just a bit … it will warm you up. Then I want you to take a shower. We’ll have something to eat and then… we’ll see.”

It all sounded so innocuous, but Danny knew there was a bigger picture going on here. McCann had plans for him, he just had no grasp on what they might be. Nothing good, that was for sure. But he had no choice. He had to follow every instruction. Let the details of his fate unfurl as McCann chose to reveal them.

Cringing inside about the very idea of eating, Danny parted his lips as crystal clinked gently against his front teeth. He took a sip as instructed, the heat burning a track down from his throat and into the pit of his stomach. It felt good. Danny had the urge to ask for the bottle and down the lot. He didn’t.

“And?” McCann gently taunted him as he insisted Danny take another swallow before he put the tumbler to the side, both his hands running up and down the length of Danny’s arms in mock affection. “Nothing to say to me, boy?”

“Thank you, sir.” Danny whispered as he bit back a sharp cough from the liquid’s sting, his eyes falling right back down to the tiny ivory-colored button. He cringed nervously as McCann continued to gently caress his arms, his fingers toying with the sensitive skin of his neck, a shiver breaking free as a kiss was lobbed on his temple.

McCann sat on the bed beside him and pushed him down. He leaned over him and bent his head, pressing his mouth to Danny’s neck. He kissed him again, then methodically nipped along his jawline until the soft series of kisses found his lips and Danny’s breath shuddered as he willingly allowed the man access. He steeled himself for what was bound to come as McCann’s tongue investigated his mouth, his aggressiveness increasing while his hands roamed Danny’s body.

Short of breath, Danny’s head began to spin as the strong earthy scent that was Spenser McCann commandeered his senses, the man’s big hands overwhelming as they possessively explored the breadth of his chest.  He tensed, on edge, as the caresses bordered a particular line that he knew well. He waited for the silent instruction to get out bed and drop to his knees, subservient to the man in every way.

It didn’t come.

Instead, the heavy foreplay continued and Danny found himself more and more confused as McCann simply played with kisses and toyed with his skin without pressing for more.

“Kiss me, Danno,” McCann whispered into his mouth, a sharp inhale preceding his apparent intention to lick, suck and nibble his way along Danny's collarbone tasting and breathing in the growing sense of uncertainty. “Kiss me … kiss me and mean it, boy. You know what I like by now … you know what I want and I shouldn’t have to tell you. Kiss me. _Touch_ me … put your hands on me.”

McCann was right. This was hardly a new demand; Danny certainly did know what McCann liked. His heart plummeted because he hated this intimacy. It was inexplicably worse than outright violent assault. Eyes closed, Danny recovered quickly enough to obey before McCann could lob a second warning his way.

Danny lifted shaky hands to unbutton McCann’s shirt. Pushing the material aside, he rested his hands on McCann’s broad shoulders before forcing himself to move. He forced his fingers to caress what he could reach under the loose fit of the shirt, his touch light and gentle from the shoulder down to McCann’s bicep. He paused as the older man shirked out of the shirt, tossing it the floor, only to then skate nervously over the newly dressed wound, the white bandage thick, a subtle heat rising up. 

Danny’s movements were hesitant and juddered as he traced McCann’s clavicle, his chest … then his ribs.  McCann’s skin was still damp from the sweat of their hike; tacky and musky from that light sheen.

Too scared to be revolted, Danny ran his fingers back up again while leaning upwards to press against McCann’s lips. He was kissed back in kind, at first chaste and sweet, but then McCann hummed a warning at the slow pace. His fingers tightened around Danny’s hand so hard that the bones creaked painfully together.

Brow furrowed in distress, Danny kept his eyes tightly closed as he pressed in deeper, his lips parting and his tongue probing between McCann’s warm lips. He fought to find a happier place to dwell inside his head as he went through the motions of nipping at McCann, trading space between their warring tongues.

Fighting his need to pull away, Danny winced as McCann’s fingers firmly pulled his hand downwards, over his chest and towards his crotch where, at first together, they palmed the mercenary’s thickening member though the material of his pants.

Then McCann’s hand left his, only to return to Danny’s face, calloused fingers gentle as they tugged through his hair. Danny kept his own hand low where he knew it was wanted, his fingers shaking as he tugged McCann’s zipper down and forced himself to continue palming and caressing the older man. McCann moaned, then began to rut solidly into his hand.

_That_ was where he was going. Soon McCann would position Danny how he wanted, then mount him. Eyes obediently open, hand on autopilot, Danny distanced himself inside. He was well-practiced at this now.

He smiled at the people he would never see again as he gazed into McCann’s lust-filled eyes. As McCann lovingly caressed his cheek with his nose.

“Mmmmm, you’re mine … now and always,” McCann murmured, his tone triumphant. “Say it, Danno. I want to hear it from your lips. Who do you belong to?”

Danny’s attention snapped back at the request. Words, just _words_. They meant nothing. “You. I’m … y-yours,” he choked out, his voice weedy and weak, and he hated it, hated himself. But it was an _act_ , the weakness and submission were nothing but an act, he lied to himself. “M-yours.”

“Good boy,” McCann grunted in approval, then yanked the covers off him, pushing his knees up.

It was time again. It would be over soon. And this was _good_ , he told himself. This was things getting back on course, back where they were before. He _understood_ this. He could _do_ this.

Danny distanced his mind and relaxed his body as much as he could in preparation for McCann’s predicted next move.

Nothing happened.

McCann stilled… and then everything changed. The mercenary stood abruptly, stepping back from the bed without explanation.

Danny looked up in complete confusion, legs dropping down slowly, carefully in case it was the wrong thing to do. McCann was staring down at him, face unreadable. He was shoving himself back inside his pants, his erection waning. 

Unsure of what to do and positive that he’d done something monumentally wrong, Danny averted his eyes and simply waited for direction… or for some variation of sadistic abuse to begin. He swallowed hard, his own face pale and his expression blatantly showing his ever-increasing fears about the mercenary’s horribly volatile personality.

McCann stepped in close to him again and bent down low. “See Danny?” he whispered, smiling sweetly. “You’re safe with me. As long as you’re a good boy, I’ll be fair to you. I would _never_ force myself on you. When you’re good, I only ever do what you want me to. You know that, don’t you?”

Danny managed not to laugh somehow, and instead nodded blindly. This was bullshit, it was all an undefinable part of the latest twisted game McCann was trying to play with him. He wasn’t going to fall for it, no way in hell.

McCann grinned again, laying a soft kiss on Danny’s cheek. “Here, petal. I’ve brought something for you. I know you’ve been feeling sad. These will help take the edge off things. Make everything seem a little easier for you. You’ve earned them.”

With that, the mercenary pulled a small brown bottle from his pants pocket and poured three little pink pills into his palm. He held out his hand and Danny picked them up obediently. They felt chalky between his sweaty fingers.

“Put them in your mouth, petal,” McCann said lightly. Danny obeyed, and an instant later McCann was pressing the tumbler to his lips once more. A long, choking slug of scotch later, they were gone.

Danny tensed, half expecting to have been poisoned, expecting crippling pain. As though reacting to his silent distress, McCann perched on the bed beside him and grasped his hand, watching him intently. He began to stroke Danny’s knuckles lazily with his thumb.

But as the minutes crept by nothing much happened at all. Things maybe dulled a little, as though a thin veil had dropped between Danny and his surroundings… but that was okay, he could cope with that. He left himself relax, his head sinking back into the pillows. He closed his eyes.

“You’re a good boy for me, petal,” he heard McCann whisper. “A good boy. You’ve become so much more to me than I ever dreamed. Sleep now, you’ve earned it. I’ll sit with you. You’re safe here with me. Nothing bad will happen to _anyone_ as long as we’re together. I’ve got your back. Always.”

Danny opened his eyes with a start as McCann used the words he and Steve had said to each other so many times.

McCann just smiled.

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Something had shifted.

McCann wasn’t touching him anymore. He was being… okay. In fact, as long as Danny was good, as long as he knelt the right way, spoke when he was spoken to, ate when food was pushed in his mouth… McCann was being actively _kind_.

He was whispering affectionately, shooting Danny secret smiles. Acting for all the world like they were best buddies. And even if Danny was bad, even if he forgot to say ‘sir’, or hunched his shoulders when he was supposed to have his back straight, McCann was whispering reminders to him, giving him every chance to correct himself instead of just ramming his dick down Danny’s throat like he had before. In fact, days had trickled by since they had arrived at McCann’s luxury bolthole, and the hated butt plug hadn’t even reappeared. Danny’s ass was actually getting a chance to heal up.

It should have been a good thing, because _not_ being raped and abused could never be a bad thing... but it was just _all wrong_. The mercenary had been an unpredictable, simmering ball of rage when they left Oahu, and that wasn’t something that could just get turned off.

Danny simply couldn’t make sense of it… but then again, it was hard to make sense of anything anymore. He was _determined_ not to fall for McCann’s game, whatever it might be… but it was so hard to concentrate. He was just _so_ tired and he felt kind of ill. And vague, really vague.

Maybe it was all down to those damn pink pills, whatever they were. They were something different, something other than the steady stream of anti-biotics and painkillers Leon still dosed him with. McCann had been pushing this new medication into his mouth personally every few hours, regular as clockwork, and it was making him feel pretty damn absent. Slowing his thought processes to a crawl.

It was another kindness, really. The pink pills took the edge off his fear. Dimmed his memory, so he didn’t miss his people quite as horribly. Danny _liked_ the effect they had, if he was honest. A little numbing positive in an ocean of painful negative.

Breathing out a soft sigh, he watched an ant as it meandered erratically across the concrete in front of him, manic and focused, yet circling pointlessly over and over again. It stopped, rubbing its body down with hair-like legs, then seemed to regain its senses, turning sharply to disappear into the undergrowth.

Danny’s gaze wandered again, before fixing on a pebble a few feet in front of him. He was kneeling on the lanai, submissive and obedient, as McCann and Walker sat and spoke together in low voices a short distance away.

Something prickled the back of his neck and he glanced up when he dared, only to see Leon staring at him with something resembling fear in his eye. Danny squinted, confused, because everything was relatively calm. McCann hadn’t found out about that phone call, as far as he could tell anyway. He seemed balanced enough right then. So what was Danny’s bodyguard so concerned about?

But Leon’s wide eyes looked down at him as though Danny was teetering at the edge of an abyss, about to fall in, and there was nothing the big man could do to help him.

It was disconcerting, it didn’t fit. Danny thought he trusted Leon in a way. He was playing a role too, one of a mindless thug, but he had given himself away as having a softer side. He had given Danny that one misguided chance to summon help, for reasons Danny had never grasped. Plus those treasured glimpses of the outside world through the simple gesture of increasing the volume on a TV- that had been Leon, he was sure of it. Who else? But Leon would never challenge McCann to his face, never stand up for Danny like that. Leon might be a friendlier figure than some, but Danny wasn’t kidding himself; he was on his own as always.

He failed to make sense of what Leon’s current problem might be, and he gave up trying after a few long seconds.

Danny licked his lips. They were dry, felt a little swollen. He was too hot, kneeling on the concrete like that. Thirsty. Really thirsty. Then he felt the heat of McCann’s gaze on him and he mentally checked over his position, making sure he had it right. On his knees, back straight, head bowed, eyes to the ground. He shuddered, his muscles were tiring rapidly. He was physically weak now. Everything was an effort. He felt dizzy, and hot, and ill. What if he really was getting sick? What if he _died_? Then what would happen? Would McCann replace him? Who would be the next toy?

Feeling that familiar sick fear for his family threatening to build inside him in spite of the drugs, he put every effort into losing himself.

He felt the warm breeze flow over him. Unstyled and growing longer, thick blonde strands of his hair fluttered across his face. Even as he looked steadfastly downwards, he imagined lifting his face towards the sun, feeling its warmth on his face.

Listening hard, he strained his ears towards the depths of the jungle instead of the hated voices around him.  He could hear nothing but the sounds of insects and birds. No boats or planes, no waves breaking on the shore. He had no idea where the beach might be.

He fantasized vaguely, imagining that he had the gall to run… to make an attempt at escape. To scuttle into the undergrowth like that tiny ant. But it would be virtually impossible even if McCann didn’t hold all the ace cards to keep him in place without argument. He had no idea where he was. Even if he managed to pick the right direction, it wouldn’t matter.  Danny knew that at least two armed guards were on point at any given time; and that more might well be posted down at the poor excuse of a pier. Wherever that might be.

He’d never make it on a good day, weak as he was now.

But it was a pleasant day-dream. Heaving in a shallow breath of air, he softly sighed it out, his unfocused eyes ever lowered and his outward expression as calm as it could be under the circumstances.

Dappled sunlight flit across his face and it proved easy for Danny to pretend he was at home on a lazy Sunday morning, in bed, just listening to the distant sounds as his home came to life. The subtle click and hum of the coffee machine as its timer came on. He could almost smell the Kona. Danny stayed in that dream for a long, long time, ignoring the scent which was really in his nostrils. A soft smile played across his lips as he imagined his bedroom, the kitchen, Grace puttering about, Charlie giggling.  

There was a faint scuffling of metal on concrete as a chair was slid across the lanai and Danny tensed, his more pleasing thoughts instantly forgotten. He screwed his eyes tightly closed before forcing them back open when he heard McCann sigh patiently, a gentle warning.  Then, on its heels, the clink of utensils on fine china, presumably a knife cutting into a bit of food, and then a shadow loomed darkly to Danny's right. He glanced up through his lashes, fleeting.

"Open, pet" McCann demanded, smiling. 

Danny instantly obeyed, mind focusing on the sun which now settled on the bare nape of his neck.  He drew on its comforting warmth as the older man tipped a morsel of something _brown_ mere inches in front of his nose. Eyes hooded as he stared blindly at the reddish-hue of the concrete lanai, Danny simply opened his mouth, begging his mind to be anywhere other than this particular reality.

McCann shoved the food in, holding it between thumb and forefinger, his fingers heavily invasive on Danny's tongue. Without being told, Danny sucked at the man's fingers, almost remembering on some distant level to be disgusted with himself for the flux of saliva that surged forth spontaneously as the pure taste of maple syrup filled his senses. He swallowed hard, his tongue inadvertently stroking around McCann and almost coughed as the sugar caught in his throat, the flavor a rare treat and heady in its sweetness.

"Again," McCann murmured as a few more pieces followed the first. He sounded indifferent and yet he was still paying close attention... fully aware of Danny's performance.

"Open, pet... have more. Suck my fingers clean... get it all. _All_."

Danny felt the thickness of his own saliva building with each small offering, his need to swallow forcing him to use his tongue more than he should have wanted against McCann's calloused skin. Now it was hard to care. This was the new normal. This was just the way it was. Spittle was gathering on his lips and, each time McCann removed his fingers, a thin, shiny strand followed to collect on his chin.  Pausing briefly, McCann thumbed the moisture away.

Obeying the mercenary's aloof commands, accepting food like this. Licking McCann’s fingers like a dog. All of that coupled with Danny’s distant awareness that Walker was avidly watching the display of McCann's power, should have been humiliating. He could dimly recall the heavy weight of humiliation he used to feel at this very ritual, and for a moment worried about the fact that it wasn’t affecting him like that anymore. But two seconds later that concern evaporated spontaneously, forgotten, like a bubble that had burst.

Danny swallowed hard. He really _was_ desperately thirsty. He didn’t remember when he’d last been given something to drink. He wondered if he could ask, but then doubted the intelligence of voicing his request.  He needed to trust that McCann would give him something to drink. Soon.  As he failed at finding moisture in his mouth, Danny hoped it would be soon. 

“Here. Danno? Look at me.” 

Somehow startled by McCann’s voice, Danny peered upwards, at first unable to focus on the face in front of him.  The older man was squatting down in front of him now, holding a glass in his hand.

“Drink this, Danno, it’s just water. Just water, petal.”

The heavy glass gently clicked against his front teeth as McCann tilted it to his lips. Danny drank greedily then, humming softly, his eyes closing in abject relief. 

“Thank you, sir” Danny murmured as McCann paused, refusing to give him more until he swallowed and caught his breath. Then he was offered more, which he gladly accepted, knowing deep down that, even if he hadn’t wanted more, the mercenary might have forced it upon him anyway. Right then though, it was hardly necessary as Danny was permitted to empty the glass; he wanted every drop. 

“ _T_ _h-thanks. Th-thank y_ ou,” Danny repeated, genuinely appreciating the simple kindness. 

"Good boy," McCann praised him warmly. "Good, _good_ boy."

The mercenary stood then, and stared down at him. Breathing heavily, Danny waited, unsure of what to do, feeling that he might be poised over a dangerous line as McCann continued to stand over him, offering him nothing else.  Muscles tense and beginning to waver on his knees, he was still wondering when McCann might feel he'd had enough of this particular interlude when the man's shadow simply disappeared. And then, just like that, it seemed to be over.

Danny partially relaxed as the older man turned away from him, feeling the sticky tickle of residue from what was left of syrup and saliva on his lips and chin. He zoned away slowly once more, his stomach feeling queasy.

With an effort, Danny allowed his eyes to fall to that pebble on the lanai again. He argued with himself to fall back into his former daydream, doing his level best to ignore the burn in his lower back, the cloyingly sweet taste in his mouth, and how the now, much too hot sun, was baking through to his skin.

He stayed like that for a time, just barely aware of the soft patter of conversation which had resumed between McCann and his lover, until he realized that he was once again becoming the center of unwelcome attention. He rallied his flagging strength, rechecking his posture, his eyes open but his gaze fixed on the ground.

He heard McCann cough, heard him stand up, heard him stalk closer. He waited.

“Open your mouth,” came the distant instruction.

Danny did as he was told, taking the risk of closing his eyes this time because he was just so fucking tired. Long moments passed before something was pressed into his mouth. But wasn’t more food, or a dick. It was a handful of pills.

Bitter and chalky, they immediately replaced the sweetness leftover from his feeding. There were several in McCann's hand, and Danny gagged as he tried and failed to swallow them right down as the man simply fed them all in without preamble, one right after the other.

A slug of scotch followed and that helped.

And then, that was it. McCann strolled back to Walker without another word, leaving Danny swaying in place, as lost as ever.

“Can I fuck him? Let me fuck him.”

Danny inhaled sharply at Walker’s sudden request because _that_ … that would be new.

“No you can’t fuck him!” McCann snapped back. “He’s for me! Now shut the fuck up!”

A frustrated curse fell from Walker’s lips, then Danny listened in shocked disbelief as he let rip at McCann in a way he had never heard anyone doing before. Ever.

“His fucking friends have fucking delayed everything!” he shouted. “I put a lot of work into that project, Spense, and you know it! Let me take it out on him, come on!”

There was a pause, punctuated by Walker’s heavy breathing. When he spoke again, his voice was more tempered and filled with innuendo. He had to know the shaky ground he was treading. “You know it gets you in the mood when you watch me….”

“I said ‘ _no_ ’!” McCann barked.

“What’s your problem?” Walker growled. “He’s nothing! Jesus, look at the state of him! He looks like shit now! He’s too fucking thin and he looks half-dead! Why do we even still have him?!”

McCann didn’t reply and Danny felt a great bubble of fear rising.

Walker swore again, incensed. “You’re not even using him anymore! What the fuck, Spense?! Are you getting attached or something?”

The sound of skin striking skin echoed around the lanai and Danny cowered down in spite of himself as though the blow had struck _him_.

“You’re forgetting yourself, Dylan.” McCann’s voice was low and ominous. “Get the _fuck_ out of my sight before I do something you’ll _really_ regret. Now. Go!”

A wave of dizziness hit Danny out of nowhere. He’d been so focused on the unprecedented stand-off between McCann and his lover, over _him._ So apprehensive at the mere concept of Walker being given permission to hurt him, that he’d maybe missed the first signs that the dosage of pills he’d been given was _way_ more than he’d ever had before.

He pushed his knees apart, bracing himself in an effort to stay in the required position as the house and the forest swam around him.

Suddenly McCann was right beside him again, speaking to him. He sounded like he was a million miles away, his tone was soothing and kind and Danny’s brain simply couldn’t comprehend the situation.

“It’s okay, petal. I’m here. You’ll be fine as long as I’m here. I won’t let anyone touch you.”

It was so fucking bizarre, such a strange thing to say when Danny's actual problem was the fact he was in the process of collapsing, that he forgot himself and glanced up. He saw a distorted version of McCann’s face, the smile broad and white and toothy. He had time to wonder what the hell was going on… and then the ground beneath him moved violently, depositing him on his side. He moaned in distress, because he wasn’t supposed to change position without permission.

But McCann was touching his cheek, stroking it gently, shushing him like he was a kid who had had a nightmare. His gentle, soothing words were the last thing Danny heard before everything went dark.

An untold time later, flickers of light penetrated the blackness, like white static on a dying TV. Was he dreaming, he wondered dimly? He saw blurred outlines, heard distant noises. Unable to move beyond a feeble twitch of an arm or leg, Danny tried to lick his lips. He couldn’t even manage that. Not quite able to hear actual words, Danny heard the hum of McCann’s voice, then Walker’s. The voices sounded calm. Affectionate. There was laughter in their soft tones.

The space around him was different, like he’d been moved. Everything was more enclosed, darker. An occasional slow blink almost clearing his vision before it dimmed again, Danny watched the fuzzy silhouettes absently. The shapes looked like his captors. Their arms were intertwined, they were nipping at each other like playful teenagers, words broken or swallowed whole by the stirrings of desire.  Their silhouettes merged into one as they swayed together to a private dance. The two stood locked in their embrace appeared unaware that they were being watched. No one else existed. 

Blurry-eyed and confused, Danny continued to watch them through heavy lids. Two enamored shapes, blurred into one as shirts were shed, hands melded and whispered words of loving entreaties were shared. Then heat and panting, sweat-dampened skin slapping on sweat-dampened skin. A familiar grunt of release.

It didn’t fit. It wasn’t right. It was so such a contradiction to the heated conversation Danny had witnessed that he didn't believe what he was seeing. McCann and Walker had fallen out. Over _him_. Fought viciously. McCann had told Walker to _leave_. Or had he dreamed that? If not, he had to be dreaming now. He felt like he was watching a performance, a play put on for his own benefit. But they thought he was unconscious. Didn’t they? He had no idea what was real and what was not anymore.

And it had to have been a dream, because then his whole world faded back to nothing.

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

He came around slowly, and everything seemed different yet again. He _had_ been moved. He was in the bedroom, laying in the bed on his left side. His right arm was stretched out, his right hand cuffed to the frame of the bed above him, the metal digging deep into his wrist. Shivers racked his body periodically thanks to whatever drugs he’d been given.

His meagre clothes were gone.

It should have been terrifying, being restrained like this, but Danny couldn’t seem to process what was happening to him.

 _These pills will make things seem easier for you._ McCann’s words replayed, and, yes, it seemed it was true even in this situation.

He lay there, staring blankly ahead of him, his mind full of treacle. Fingers pushed between his lips- another pill. He swallowed it dry, moaning softly.

“Do you love me, Danno?” came the echoing voice of his master.

“Y-yes… sir.” Danny murmured automatically.

“I love you too. You’re safe with me, petal. Who are you safe with?”

Danny frowned dully, trying to understand the words he was hearing, and the expected response.

“W-with you,” he breathed.

A feather-light kiss brushed his brow.

Time stretched, and expanded and contracted and Danny never moved, couldn’t move. Couldn’t control his thoughts. His memories were a million miles away, only the last few hours registering at all. McCann’s touches, his caresses, his words, slipped across Danny's mind, dancing and teasing.

_I love you. You’re safe with me._

Then he remembered Walker’s fury. His dangerous intents.

On some level Danny knew his thoughts were skewing, his mind was beginning to tell him the wrong thing. Then that knowledge was gone too, disappeared in the spectrum of colors that washed through him.

_I love you. You're safe with me._

He wanted to go home. He could never go home. But he was safe with McCann. McCann loved him.   

Then McCann was there again, his face floating right in front of Danny’s eyes. The mercenary caressed his cheek tenderly, then began to speak. The words were distant and tinny, like part of a dream. “Leon and I have to go away for a few days. You be a good boy for me. Dylan will take _good_ care of you. He promised me he would.”

And that _had_ to be a dream, because Danny knew Walker would never take care of him. Walker _hated_ him. McCann was the only person that could keep him safe from Walker.

Danny moved his lead-filled head, searching out McCann.

He was gone.

 

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, there is actually no way we are not going to hell for the next chapter. Don't read it if you're sensitive or... you know... human.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters
> 
> Dear Readers, IreneClaire and I can only apologize for this chapter. We are shaking our heads at each other in despair as we plummet steadily towards Hades. Read those warnings. This is bad. We are so, so, so sorry. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, YOU CAN'T SAY WE DIDN'T WARN YOU! Love Swifters.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Steve tightened his grip on the gurgling man’s throat. “Where did they move him to?! Where?!” he hissed.

“Steve, ease up. He can’t speak!” Chin’s hand touched his arm gently and broke the spell. Steve released Davies and the hapless man fell back to the chair, gasping for breath.

“Jesus! You’re insane! You’re actually fucking insane!”

“At least I’m not the one wearing the orange suit, you back-stabbing, sniveling little shit,” Steve snarled. “Now fucking tell me!”

Davies shook his head. “McGarrett, you could come here and threaten me every day for the rest of your _life_. I do. Not. KNOW! McCann sent me money and I did little jobs for him. That was all. He didn’t leave me a fucking forwarding address!”

“‘Little jobs’! Is that what you call them?! Like fucking with traffic cam feeds when McCann wanted to move around the island? Like letting the whole fucking gang escape at Ewa Beach? Like staying right there, right next to Grace Williams just so Detective Williams would know his little girl would be kidnapped if he put a foot wrong? You piece of….” Steve stopped, breathing hard. He was spiraling out of control here, but _fuck_!

Davies had come clean about a lot of things. Probably everything. No way was he party to everything that had gone on. The cell number McCann had been contacting the HPD man on had been a burner, was off and non-functioning. Davies had been dropped like a hot stone. He blatantly meant nothing to the mercenary. And this… okay Steve was effectively venting because he had no positive direction to channel his terror, rage and frustration in.

He took in the smug look growing on Davies face- the former cop was actually getting a kick out of just how upset Steve was.

Steve swore softly. “You know what, fuck this. I’m not wasting any more time on you. I hope you’re enjoying Halawa, Davies. I’ll put in a word, get you a move into general pop. I’d watch your ass, if you know what I mean.” He gave Davies a salacious wink, then turned and marched out, blanking the alarmed call from the prisoner.

He shoved Chin out ahead of him, then slammed the door shut on the prison interview room.

A couple of deep breaths and he turned to say something to Chin, but he was still too pumped, still too close to losing it. He was in danger of unraveling right there and then in front of a row of curious prison guards.

Chin saw it. “Outside,” the Asian man said firmly. “Steve? Let’s get out of here. Yes?”

Steve nodded sharply then turned and marched away, kept right on going to the truck and climbed on in.

“Breathe man, just breathe.” Chin’s hand was on his shoulder and Steve couldn’t look at him, he’d fall apart if he saw the concern he knew was in his friend’s face because they could not waste time worrying about _him_.

But how was he meant to keep holding it together? Danny was gone, _again._ They had not the first clue where he was, _again_. And they had always known what McCann had been doing to him, really. But now they had the forensic report on the penthouse to evidence their worst fears as fact in minute, horrific detail.

Danny’s blood, McCann’s semen together. In the bed, on the carpet, in the bathroom, on the settee. One of McCann’s fucking _pubic hairs,_ coated in Danny’s blood, on a towel in the linen basket.

Other than the bed where Steve had found the mocking note, the place had looked superficially clean, but a full forensic sweep had revealed irrefutable evidence of a catalogue of violent sexual attacks by McCann on Danny, throughout the property. Multiple times, multiple locations.

And Danny had chosen to stay and suffer more of the same to save everyone else.

Steve understood, but he hated his partner for that decision, just a little bit. Hated himself even more as a result.

There could have been more, the crime scene could have yielded worse if that was even imaginable. They had found security cameras in the penthouse. Tiny, covert devices in every fucking room, like beady little black eyes peering down at them from the light fittings. But whatever the footage had been recorded on had gone with just about everything else from the house. The cables had led to nothing at all.

The horrors those cameras must have recorded….

And it wasn’t even over. Danny’s ordeal hadn't ended. McCann still had him. What was he doing to him now? Steve was trying so hard not to think about it, but the material evidence they had found of what had already happened was shoving the facts right down his throat until he choked on them.

“At least INTERPOL think the chemical weapon will be non-functional without Mercier to finish the job off. Right? That’s a good thing. Right?” Chin was trying really hard here, trying to reel him back from the edge.

“Right,” he pushed out past the painful lump that had risen in his throat. He was shaking. Vibrating in place.

“And without Davies… and without the cameras Davies told us about at the Edwards… McCann’s intel is cut off. He can’t manipulate Danny the way he was. Right?”

It was true, but it felt _too late._ If that had happened week one, it might have made a difference. But now… could it really help? The presence of the threat to Grace and Charlie would have been cemented in Danny’s mind long ago without the need to constantly prove it to him.

Still, Steve opened his mouth to agree with Chin, because this is how they were all getting by now, mindlessly offering each other empty assurances. But he couldn’t do it.

“Chin….” Steve’s tone was pure, honest desperation. “What if this is it? What if we just don’t find him? We don’t have anything, Chin. _Nothing_. _Five_ buildings that bastard McCann was controlling and we have _none_ of his core team to question, no clue where they might have gone.” His voice broke. “ _Nothing_! We should never have moved in on the pump station. We made him run, Chin. We did that! We should have waited!”

“Steve, no, you can’t second guess yourself like that. We’ve just done the best we could, right from the start. And the forensic teams are still working, re-checking everything, right? They might find something yet. And… and INTERPOL might come through yet, though, right?” Chin blurted out. “They still have someone undercover. I know LaRouche said he’s missed his call-ins ever since the Ewa Beach thing… but he might come through. Right? Now the situation with the weapon is less critical?”

He lifted his face and met Steve’s eye and Steve swore softly as Chin’s expression shifted to one of total devastation. Neither of them believed that. The man had failed to come through at any point and the chances were he’d been compromised. Or found out and executed.

Either way, it seemed unlikely that the INTERPOL agent was ever going to come though and right then they had _nothing_.

Then there was the most hellish possibility of all; there was a good chance Danny had been finished off too. McCann and Walker’s history with hostages was well recorded; _rape, torture, break, murder_.

The team had learned that months ago, not realizing at the time it might one day apply to one of their own. McCann had had his fun- the forensics alone were testament to that- and moving around with a missing cop would be a hundred times harder than without. It would have made more sense from a tactical point of view to kill him.

They were all thinking it, but no one had voiced it.

“He’s alive. He _is_.” Chin insisted, his thoughts clearly playing out along identical lines to Steve’s own.

Steve nodded brusquely, praying to God Chin was right. Then again, if it came to a choice between being raped by Spenser McCann on a daily basis for the rest of his life, or a bullet in his head, Steve knew what he would pick every time.

Horrified by his own internal admission, Steve wiped a shaking hand over his eyes. Alive, Danny _would_ be alive, he insisted to himself. They would find him and, with a bit of help, he would be _fine_ …. Steve would be there for him every single moment, help him, do _anything_ it took.

But he couldn’t help but wonder… if Danny _was_ still alive, just how bad were things going to get for him?

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

It was nearly dark.

Danny had been lying where he was forever, on his side, one arm stretched out above him, wrist secured tight to the bed. He stared at shadows in the gloom without seeing them.

_I love you. You’re safe with me._

The words, repeated to him so many times, stayed with him as he floated, aware but not aware. Loose, contrary concepts slipped in and out of reach, his sub-conscious doing battle with itself in the background. _Walker had him- he needed McCann. McCann had raped him. He was safe with McCann. McCann had threatened his family. McCann loved him, was fair to him._

He couldn’t quite fix on any one thing to pull it all apart, understand what was true. Couldn’t process the disparate concepts.

 _I love you. You’re safe with me._ Those words were still the loudest of all.

There was a door in his peripheral vision and it cracked open silently, a sliver of light appearing and disappearing in an instant. Danny stared and he wondered what that meant. Then the bed dipped behind him and a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

Danny closed his eyes. Was it McCann? Was he back? Or was it Walker?

“Danno! Danno, it’s over buddy.”

And his mind had to be playing tricks on him, because that sounded like… _Steve_?

“It’s over Danny. C’mon, speak to me, babe.”

Danny inhaled sharply, the heavy narcotic veil that smothered him forced back by the outright shock of the fact that it really _was_ the long-missed voice of his best friend he had heard.

Maybe it sounded off, distant and strange, but _everything_ sounded distant and strange.

His thoughts moved sluggishly as he tried to understand. It _couldn_ _’_ _t_ be Steve, could it? Steve wasn’t _here_. That wasn’t right. He’d told Steve to stay away because it wasn’t safe for _anyone_ if he came… hadn’t he? 

“S-Steve?” he rasped.

Danny felt hot breath in his ear as the new presence in the room bent down low behind him. He tried to turn his head to look, trembling violently, because _God_ , could it really be Steve? But he couldn’t move. The handcuff binding him to the bedstead was stretching his arm tight across the side of his head and he simply couldn’t see past it. He tried to roll his whole body backwards, but he was so weak that the soft touch on his shoulder was enough to hold him in place.

The hand shifted, caressed his arm. “Yeah. It’s me, buddy. Shhhhh. Don’t move, they might be watching. We gotta be real quiet. I’ll lie here with you till the rest of the team gets in. It’s over. You’re okay.”

“B-but...” Danny whispered, then he stumbled to a halt, struggling to make sense of those words and the thoughts in his head. The erratic bursts of emotion his mind was producing. _Home_. He wanted to go home. That was right, wasn’t it? _Yes_. But he couldn’t, it wasn’t permitted!

Raw panic loomed, pushing through to the surface. “N-no! McCann….”

“No, shhh,” that voice interrupted, firm and confident. “Listen. We got McCann and Walker. They’re _dead_ , buddy. Everyone’s safe. The team just have the guards to take out. You’re going home, Danny. Back to Gracie, and Charlie.”

Danny listened, absorbing the words, blinking slowly, breathing hard.

Simple facts trickled forwards from the depths of his mind, sliding precariously into place. Yes, he wanted to go home, so badly. McCann was protecting him from Walker… but forcing him to stay away from the people he loved. So if _both_ of those men were dead… he really _could_ go home. Couldn’t he?

He felt calm, steady breaths against his skin, tried to use them to center his thoughts as that familiar voice whispered to him in that distant, weird way, making quiet promises of safety and home. He listened, and he remembered one thing above all else; he trusted the man behind him with every fiber of his being. Even if things were muddled in his head right then, Steve McGarrett would have his back. Always.

Face crumpling with emotion, he finally let himself believe it might all be true. Relief trickled, then cascaded through his body. He sobbed once and a tear ran from his eye, across his nose.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Take it easy, babe. I’ve got you.”

A lean, muscular body settled in behind him, spooning in close, a strong hand rubbing up and down his side. He felt a soft kiss on his shoulder.

Danny blinked, trying to push down the knee-jerk revulsion he felt at the proximity of the warm body, because this was the man he trusted most in the world. Steve would never hurt him.

He wished he could think clearly. Control his reactions and his thoughts. But the tears kept coming. He shivered harder, teeth suddenly chattering, and he wished Steve would pull the covers up over him because he was lying there naked and vulnerable and he _hated_ what he must look like.

Steve didn’t seem to care. His partner was murmuring quietly to him. Meaningless nonsense, soothing him, telling him he was safe.

Danny started to relax, started to draw comfort from the strong body behind him. He was finally safe. It was over. He wouldn’t be raped again. He was going to see his kids and hold them and kiss them and _God_ , there was nothing he wanted more. He sobbed louder, wet and painful.

“Easy, Danno. Easy. Here, let me make you feel better.”

That big hand slid from his flank, down to his hip, then to the front of his body. It stroked his flaccid cock.

Danny jerked back in horror, inadvertently pushing against his partner’s crotch. He gasped at what he felt. _Steve was naked. Steve was hard_.

“S-Steve?” he choked, but then the hand pulled back, curling around his body to his backside. A long finger dipped into his crack… then shoved right into his healing hole. Danny gasped in pain, in disbelief, but before he could hope to process what was happening, the finger was gone. Then there was no hesitation, no warning; one merciless thrust, no lube whatsoever, and the man behind him thrust his dick into Danny to the root.

Danny cried out in agony. He had time to feel a deep flare of shock and betrayal, because _Steve_ was raping him… then his doped-up mind finally caught up with his senses.

He could smell _Dylan Walker_ _’_ _s_ cologne, not Steve’s sea-tinted musk. There were no tattoos on the long arm that was now wrapped firmly around his chest.

It wasn’t Steve at all.

And the huge dose of that drug that had been poured into him might be numbing his thoughts and reactions in ways he couldn’t begin to understand, but right then it simply wasn’t _enough_ because the pain of what had just happened overwhelmed everything. Utter devastation and desolation swept across him because it _wasn_ _’_ _t_ over. He _wasn_ _’_ _t_ being rescued. It was a trick.

_He was being raped by Dylan Walker._

Then the assault started in earnest. Solid, merciless, tearing thrusts, a powerful hand gripping his hip tight enough to bruise, holding him close so he had no choice but to take it all.

“Easy Danno. You want this. You’ve _always_ wanted this.”

The voice was still Steve’s, and Danny screwed his eyes shut against it, he didn’t understand _how_ … but it was Walker. McCann had left him alone with Walker and that bastard had taken advantage in the cruelest way possible, aiming to hurt his body, his mind and his heart.

Frantic, Danny strived to escape into his head, but the drugs had loosened his self-control and he couldn’t do it, couldn’t get away! There was only pain and disgust and Steve’s voice and, _oh God_!

Tear-filled eyes cracking open, he searched the dimly lit room desperately for something to latch onto, a crutch to help him find that happy place in his mind where none of this could touch him. But this had never happened here, he wasn’t prepared, he hadn’t torn loose a strip of wallpaper. Why hadn’t he torn the wallpaper?  

“I heard that you have a bit of trouble ….  _Performing_. Don’t really get into it?” the stolen voice grunted out, even as the thrusting continued unabating.

A groping hand closed on his soft dick, stroking its length before grasping it firmly. There was an experimental tug and then a short, chuffed sound which might have been a laugh.

“Let’s get a better look at the problem shall we?”

Danny whimpered as Walker pulled out abruptly, shifting to sit astride his captive’s hips. He closed his hand on the blond’s cuffed wrist. The tension was finally released from Danny’s stretched arm as it was uncuffed from the bedstead, but there was no time for relief. Danny was shoved over onto his stomach, his cramping shoulder burning like fire, and both of his hands were yanked round behind him. The cuffs closed on him once more, securing his wrists together this time at the small of his back.

There was an annoyed growl as Walker struggled to adjust them to his satisfaction.

Freed from the bed, arm finally lowered, Danny found himself able to move his neck and he took a chance, because he _had_ to see that face, _had_ to know it was _Walker_ pinning him face down on the bed, had to _prove_ to himself it wasn’t Steve.

He strained to look behind him, gaze instead momentarily drawn to a glint of light on the ceiling; the unblinking eye of one of McCann’s favored cameras in the light fitting above him. His breath hitched in his throat. If _only_ McCann had been watching, if only he had known, he would have stopped this. But he had gone away.

Danny twisted his neck further as his wrists were hauled about, the cuffs digging into his skin as they were tightened painfully. He finally earned himself a partial view of his attacker’s face. _Of course_ it wasn’t Steve. _Of course_ it was Walker.  

Still glaring at the cuffs, Walker didn’t seem to have noticed Danny was watching him and he lifted a little black box to his mouth.

“Tight enough for you, Danno? I know you like it tight.”

The box changed Walker’s voice seamlessly into Steve’s and, as Danny saw the magic with his own eyes, disjointed memories pushed to the fore. _Blood pooling on a hardwood floor. Steve unconscious, bleeding out, his voice speaking to Danny though his lips never moved_.

Danny had seen this before. The same trick. That was it, that was all he could recall, and he kept his gaze on Walker, willing himself to hold on to _this_ memory clearly at the very least, because this was _not_ _Steve_ and he _couldn’t_ let himself forget that!

Walker glanced at Danny’s profile, gaze locking onto his instantly. His hissed in annoyance, clearly unhappy that he was being observed. He grabbed Danny by the hair, pushed his face back into the pillow.

“F-fuck… you. N-not… Steve.” Danny croaked, shaking his head weakly and stubbornly turning his head again when Walker let go.

A slow grin grew on Walker’s face. He lowered the device and for a moment his voice was his own. “No, I’m not Steve, you’re right. But let’s see how long you remember that for, shall we? We have _plenty_ of time to play, Danny-boy.”

Then the blond man’s limited world disappeared as a blindfold covered his eyes tightly making his chest tighten in panic. Danny was manhandled onto his back, his bound wrists now painfully wedged behind him, pressed into the mattress. He grunted as sweat-dampened fingers pawed at his chest, painfully tweaked his nipples, and nails were raked across the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. 

“Isn’t this fun?” said the stolen voice again. “Wish Gracie could join us though, she loooves her Uncle Steve….”

Danny, now hyperventilating with fear, found himself growling in fury. “F-fuck you, W-Walker!”

A fist to the side of his face left him gasping in pain and tasting blood. Walker had struck without hesitation. Then he punched Danny again, and again, and again, and everything began to spin around him, the vagueness that had encompassed him for days slipping back into place.

“You wish!” Walker snorted. “Bad luck, Danno, it’s the other way round. You’re still an arrogant little bastard under that pathetic act. Spense has been way, _way_ too kind to you. His sweet talk… his damned kisses? He’s gone soft on you, babe. He fucking thinks that he really cares about you… but I know better. I know you like it rough, Danno.”

Walker shifted to straddle Danny’s thighs, pinning them together. Then he must have raised that freaking device to his mouth once more, because he was stealing Steve’s voice again. “Now where were we, _partner_?”

Cruel fingers cupped Danny's balls, rolling and pinching, only to then resume a painful assault on his cock and he flinched, each breath now a panted whine, while his weak attempts to move away were easily stopped. He moaned in fear, keening in his throat, blindly rolling his head from side to side in abject denial.

“Dan-no! Can’t get it up huh? What’s wrong with you? You need pain to turn you on, _buddy_.” Steve’s mocking voice was a cruel prelude to Walker’s next move, as he shifted with astonishing speed, spread Danny’s legs and pressed his bodyweight between them. He thrust his hard dick back into the blond detective’s now-bleeding hole and Danny shouted wordlessly as agony tore into him.

There was a feral growl in his ear as the heavy length of a sweat-stained body blanketed his own and Walker started to fuck him with purpose, while fingernails raked across the breadth of his chest leaving burning trails of fire behind them. Trapped under his body, Danny’s fingers clawed uselessly at the bedding.

A chilling contrast to the relentless pounding, Walker’s dangerous fingers began to creep slowly across Danny’s body. They thumbed over his Adam’s apple, his swallow of fear making Walker only chuckle with a sadistic intent. Then slowly, ever so slowly, Danny felt his air supply diminish. Walker squeezed and squeezed, tighter and tighter, and Danny _couldn_ _’_ _t breathe_. He panicked, his body spasming, desperate for air, and that was it, that was what Walker wanted. He pounded hard, fucking his victim raw, as he squeezed harder still. Danny was going to die, he was actually going to die, he was gulping, blood pounding in his ears, lights flashing across his eyes, he was actually, finally going to die....

Walker released his grip.

One agonized breath permitted, two… before that hand clamped around him again. Danny bucked weakly, desperate and petrified. He was floundering, blessed unconsciousness beckoning at the very least… but then the pressure released _again_.

His attacker just wasn’t letting it happen, wasn’t letting him escape that way. He wasn't going to be allowed to die, he wasn't going to be allowed to lose consciousness.

“Don’t like that, huh?” Steve’s voice panted from above him. “Or, maybe it’s exciting? Is this exciting for you, Danno? Give it a chance. How about it buddy, do you like it when I do this to you? You want some more, partner?”

“Steve… no.” he found himself murmuring as his best friend’s voice whispered obscenities in his ear. Danny mouthed the words again. Then he swore helplessly as he realized what he’d said, the mistake he’d made. _It wasn’t Steve!_

But that voice was still going, still taunting him as his abuser grunted his way towards completion and _fuck_ that he could feel it getting in his head. He couldn’t let it happen, he couldn’t let Walker do that to him. To _Steve_. But right then couldn’t _see_ , he was _blindfolded_. He knew only pain and Steve’s voice and he was terrified, completely terrified, that he was going to forget what was real. Lose the fact that Steve would never hurt him. _Never_. Not like this.

_You hate him. You’re scared of him._

Somebody had said those words to Danny about Steve, he remembered that. Had said they would become true. He couldn’t let it happen, he couldn’t.

_Not Steve. Not Steve. Not Steve._

Then the air closed off again but Danny ignored it, didn't fight it, went right on going, repeating the mantra inside through the manic ringing in his ears, clinging to it like a drowning man... but he could feel himself sinking. He couldn't hold on. He needed help. He needed to be saved. He needed this to end.

Walker’s callous attack was on the cusp of doing what McCann’s many games never had. Reality was twisting no matter how hard he tried to fight against it, the drugs and the torment bending who he was and what he knew. He was desperate, in danger of losing his tenuous grip on sanity and cracking once and for all.

He sucked in precious air as the pressure was released once more. His partner’s voice began whispering in his ear again, hateful and poisonous, promising more and worse. Then words dried up and sharp teeth dug into his flesh.

“Steve… no,” he mouthed, and it slipped past his guard this time. He didn’t correct himself.

_I love you. You're safe with me._

The words came back to Danny and he sobbed quietly. He needed McCann to come back. McCann would end this utter hell before Danny forgot the things that mattered. He would protect him and keep him safe. Danny might never go home, but he would be okay as long as he was with McCann. McCann loved him. McCann would look after him.

“McCann,” he found himself whispering out loud as the sick assault went on unrelenting. “S-Spense, _help_ me, please. I _need_ you.”

The mouth biting into his shoulder twisted into a triumphant smile, but he couldn’t begin to understand what that meant.

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry. So, so, so sorry.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

The fight had gone from him. The will to live. He had nothing left. He was empty.

His body was battered, his ribs creaking and aching, his stomach roiling after sustaining repeated blows. His face was bruised and swollen, his brow fevered, his throat all but closed up so every single breath burned and whistled faintly; a staccato, agonizing punctuation of slowly-ticking time. And he was damaged down below in a way he hadn’t been since the very start. Come and blood mingled together, tacky and abhorrent, pulling tightly on raw skin as they dried. 

Everything hurt in a hot, pulsing, nauseating rhythm.

Now Danny lay on his belly on the floor, ruined bedsheets strewn haphazardly beneath him, hands clawed rigidly into the stained silk. His eyes were open wide, staring blankly to the side as his mind assaulted him with new horrors he could find no escape from.

Walker had attacked him repeatedly, endlessly. The man was depraved in ways Danny couldn’t begin to understand.

_Not Steve. Not Steve. Not Steve._

He kept up the internal mantra, but dully now, out of habit, because the fact that Steve hadn’t done this didn’t even matter anymore. Danny might have somehow managed to hang on to the fact it had been _Walker_ who had done this to him, but the man’s sick actions had destroyed Danny almost as surely as if he had genuinely believed it _had_ been Steve… because now he had nowhere to hide.

His last refuge, the happy place in his mind that represented his only escape, had been devastated because that sanctuary was filled not just with his kids but with his partner.

Steve McGarrett; strong, dependable, infuriating, an all-pervasive force of nature. A constant presence, always by his side, teasing him, dealing with his shit without blinking, laughing with him and at him. He had depended on recreating those things in his head to preserve that last corner of sanity. But now when Danny tried to retreat inside himself, his inner Steve had changed. He had been tainted. His words twisted and shifted from warm banter to hate-filled perversion, the fond expression darkening to aggressive lust. Affectionate touches morphed into grabbing and punching and squeezing, physical manifestations of pure evil intent.

_Not Steve. Not Steve._

Danny mouthed the words with split lips over and over and over again, hoping forlornly that his sub-conscious might listen and believe. That the sickening feeling of betrayal might lessen. It didn’t work.

No, it hadn’t been Steve. But the taunts that echoed around his head, filling him with remembered fear as he lay there, were unmistakably uttered by Steve’s voice. They felt real.

Danny felt like he had lost his friend, and now he had lost himself.

He had nowhere to hide any more, no way to resist. He was finally broken, inside and out. Brutally raped, mercilessly beaten, mentally torn apart. Inside he was disintegrating, falling to pieces completely, screaming and screaming and hitting his head off the nearest wall until it all just went away. But he couldn’t move his body, couldn’t make it happen in reality. He could only lie there, trembling, waiting for more.

His one hope had been McCann… and _McCann hadn’t come_. Walker wasn’t letting him die no matter how much Danny wanted to, and McCann hadn’t come.

It still wasn’t over.

Exhaustion, injury, sickness and the hazy aftereffects of the drug made time pass in the strangest of ways. Lost in his own feverish world, Danny didn’t even hear footsteps approaching him, didn’t realize anyone was in the room until a shadow passed over his face.

He closed his eyes, terrified because Walker was back again, but incapable of doing anything more to shut out his situation.

“Danno?”

It wasn’t Walker at all. _It was McCann_.

Eyes cracking open, Danny choked with disbelief, then relief, then _panic_ because a distant, fading corner of his mind screamed at him that this man was dangerous too, unless he behaved. He had to do what was expected of him to be treated fairly.

_Get up. Keep him happy. Keep Grace safe._

Fighting the leaden pull of his injuries, the sickness and the drugs, body feeling like it belonged to someone else entirely, he somehow managed to lurch up, pushing himself to his knees, hands behind his back the way McCann liked him best.

He swayed in place.

There was a moment of silence, then McCann was kneeling in front of him, reaching for Danny’s battered face with a hesitant hand. “Danno? What _happened_ to you?” The man’s tone was soft in a way it had never been before.

Danny flinched away in spite of himself, Walker’s attack still echoing too close to the surface for him to be able to keep still like he was supposed to.

But McCann didn’t punish him.

Danny shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it, his swaying exaggerated all the more by the slight movement. The hand returned and this time he managed to suppress his knee-jerk reaction. Long fingers brushed over his forehead.

“And you’re hot! Petal… you have a fever. You’re sick! You weren’t sick like this when I left you. Have you been taking your anti-biotics?”

Danny blinked tiredly. He couldn’t remember, he didn’t know. He’d done everything that had been asked of him. _Everything_. He nodded hesitantly. McCann sounded concerned. Something about that was all wrong. Wasn’t it? God, his head was muggy.

Gentle hands were caressing his cheeks, touching the raised, reddened skin.

“Danno... your face is bruised. Your neck. Your chest. Jesus, your _wrists_.” The fingers roamed his body tenderly, shying from nothing. Danny closed his eyes again as those hands sunk lower, reaching behind him before freezing at his backside. He whimpered in pain as the damaged flesh was probed.

McCann moved his hand away immediately, swearing quietly. “Danny…  I expect you to answer me honestly right now. Who did this to you?”

Tears pricked at Danny’s eyes out of nowhere. He was too sick for this. Too sick to understand what McCann wanted him to say or do, too doped up to know what was right and what was wrong. But he had to obey. He _had_ to. He closed his eyes before he replied.

“It _wasn’t_ Steve,” he croaked out weakly through a throat lined with glass, and he was reminding himself, as well as telling McCann. But a raw stab of grief and betrayal hit him anyway, and he whimpered again.

There was a pause, then McCann seemed to take his strange statement in his stride. “Okay. Who, Danno?”

“ _W-Walker_.”

The word was quiet, barely a breath. A protracted silence followed, every second of which Danny expected to be on the receiving end of a violent attack for daring to implicate McCann’s lover. He sighed softly, waiting for his punishment.

He could scarcely belief what actually came next.

“Shit,” McCann murmured. “I’m so sorry Danno. I know he’s been feeling jealous of the time we spend together. He thinks I’m getting attached to you. I should have expected something like this.” He growled softly and Danny shivered harder. “There will be repercussions for him. This won’t happen to you again. I promise.”

A gentle hand touched his chin and pulled at it, lifting his head so he had to meet McCann’s gaze. The guy looked heart-broken and furious all at the same time.

_I love you. You’re safe with me._

Maybe it really was true. But then Danny shook his head in complete confusion. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with this picture and he couldn’t get his head round it.

McCann was peering at him intently as though logging his every thought, his every move. “Here, take these. These will start to make things feel better,” he whispered, then more of the magic little pills were pushed into Danny’s mouth. A moment later a glass was held to his lips and, not even knowing what he'd been offered, Danny opened his mouth automatically. McCann tipped it slightly for Danny to take a shallow sip. It was water. Plain. Cold. Ordinary. Absolute perfection. Swallowing was sheer agony, but the precious water soothed his throat.

“Thank you, s-sir,” Danny croaked softly, voice barely audible. And he really meant it.

For the water, for the drugs. For just coming back.

A familiar and welcome fog descended rapidly around him, lessening the pain, lessening the fear, dulling the memories. As he knelt there, McCann stroking his bruised cheek and murmuring quiet comfort, Danny sighed softly. He felt so done, so vulnerable, so overcome with relief and gratitude.

A tear dropped, then another, another. Then his breath hitched painfully in his battered chest and he felt like he was going to panic because he’d never done this, never broken down like this in front of McCann.

“There, there, petal. It’s over now. He won’t hurt you again,” the mercenary whispered quickly. Long arms wrapped around Danny’s back and drew him in. A big hand gently cupped the nape of his neck to guide the blond man’s face to rest against McCann’s broad chest.

“It’s okay. It’s over now. I’m here now. I’ll _always_ come for you, petal, whatever happens. It might take a while, but I’ll _always_ come, I can promise you that.”

And Danny couldn’t help it. He cried hard against McCann’s shoulder as the man rubbed his back and soothed him. Even as he sobbed, something in Danny’s gut twisted. This wasn’t right, because he hated McCann… didn’t he? McCann had hurt him before. Hadn’t he? Maybe he was hallucinating. It was getting really, really difficult to remember facts. Remember who had done what to him and when. He could feel the softening affects of the pills around him like a thick blanket of snow, deadening the noise in his mind.

His weeping slowly eased, leaving him drained, breath hitching painfully and dim thoughts filled with doubts. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it had _always_ been Walker who had hurt him. He searched his memories, trying to remember. He saw McCann’s smiling face. Felt McCann’s tender touch. Heard McCann telling Walker not to hurt him. Remembered Walker’s attack. Had it always been Walker? Had McCann always tried to protect him?

Floundering mentally, he searched again for more horrific facts of his long ordeal. But they were like fluid running between his fingers and flowing away, harder and harder to grasp by the second… until he reached Walker’s cruelty. What _had_ McCann really done to him? It couldn’t be as bad as what Walker had put him through. It _couldn_ _’_ _t_ be as bad as that. And McCann would protect him from that as long as he was good, he had promised. His family would be safe as long as he was good. Those things he still knew as sure as he knew his own name and he held on to them tight.

He needed to concentrate. Keep McCann happy, then everything would be okay. McCann would keep him safe if he was good.

“Come on. Up you get, boy. Come on. Let’s sort you out.”

With that, McCann helped Danny to his feet and half-carried him into the bathroom, where he was allowed to drop back to his knees. He stayed there, swaying again, weak as a kitten, exhausted and hurting and bleary and sick. He didn't move. He just couldn’t seem to think any more. Obedient down to his tucked chin and downcast eyes, he knelt quietly on the hard tile.

McCann was moving around and Danny listened dully. Water began to run. Danny glanced up and saw the claw foot tub was being filled. The steam began to settle on his skin and saturate his hair. The stifling heat and cloying scent of aromatic oil made him feel even more woozy. McCann, busy selecting bottles from the cabinet and placing them at the edge of the bath, was suddenly naked too.

Danny almost smiled. A bath. They were going to have a bath together. Cute. He’d done that with a few girls. Warm water, glasses of champagne, lots of bubbles. Candles. Romantic. It had been romantic.

Danny closed his eyes when the faucets were turned off. He sensed the older man standing over his cowed head, yet he never looked up. He tried to shake the dizziness from his head while he licked his overly dry lips, beads of humidity speckling his face. Nausea and heat were conspiring, working in consort with the steam in the room. He was growing ever more wobbly, ever closer to passing out altogether.

Then the room was silent except for the steady _drip drip drip o_ f water into the claw foot tub. He sensed the man was still looking at him.  Off balance and dizzy, Danny opened his eyes, peering up to see McCann staring at him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Danny looked down again, fast, heart lurching at having been caught disobeying. But the older man’s hand merely fell to Danny's slouched shoulder. A benevolent gesture, almost fatherly.

“It’s okay, petal. You’re safe with me,” the mercenary murmured. “Good boy. Let’s get you in. Let’s get you clean.”

He helped Danny to his feet. Danny didn't say a word. He did nothing except do as instructed, following McCann's lead into the hot, bubbly water. 

McCann sank down slowly, his back resting against a thick white towel he’d layered comfortably over the tub’s deep porcelain back. He tugged Danny down with him, his hands settling the blonde against his chest.

Danny whimpered softly as the water stung his injuries. But he leant back, obeying the guiding hands. The bath was deep, and doubt clouded his mind as water lapped his chin when the bigger man pulled him down lower. He tensed, drew a shuddering breath.

McCann must have felt his fear. “I’m not going to _drown_ you, love,” he crooned. He ran one hand soothingly up and down Danny’s side, the other reaching for a sponge on the side of the tub. “I promise.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Danny’s head.

Danny gurgled deeply in his throat, his neck feeling like rubber as his head fell back to rest on the mercenary’s broad shoulder. He sagged there, eyes falling shut.

A soft, soapy cloth began to slide over his aching, filthy body. His face, his neck, his chest. Slowly and tenderly, pressure never great enough to exacerbate his injuries. He lay there as Walker’s filth was removed from his body. The older man washed him down, sometimes pausing to knead tight muscles. It was surreal. Soothing.

Danny began to relax in McCann’s arms. He let the drugs and exhaustion pull at him again, relaxed into their grip too, one step closer to unconsciousness. McCann raised each of his limp arms in turn, soaping, giving his hands and fingers due consideration before gently rinsing them off. McCann hummed as he worked, and the soft vibration further lulled Danny down. His eyes stayed closed and he practically dozed until McCann shifted again. 

Danny roused a little, a spike of cold anxiety penetrating the haze and seizing his breath as McCann strayed lower, to the soft skin between his legs and then to the tops of his thighs where circles were rubbed. The routine touch became a gentle fondle and what had once been relaxing, changed tempo. He felt the man’s member begin to harden where it lay beneath him. 

Danny heaved in a fractured breath of air, uncertainty rising again. 

“Shhh,” McCann soothed him tenderly. “No, it’s okay. Let me do something for you. Think of it as an apology for what Dylan did. Just relax. Picture anyone you like, whatever it takes. You have my permission.”

Before Danny could begin to try to understand what McCann meant, the mercenary’s hand slid onto his cock where he took a firm hold. Danny froze, body rigid in spite of McCann’s reassuring whispers. But the man was skilled. He started to move his hand, to massage and tease and Danny’s body began to react. Danny briefly tried to fight his natural reactions, but he was too weak, too heavy, too distant. McCann was moving faster, teasing then pumping steadily, then teasing again. Danny gasped, the control he had barely ever had disappearing.

He let himself go. Let himself forget where he was, let himself float, let himself _feel_. There was just nothing inside him that allowed him to resist or object to what was happening to him. _It felt good._

Then McCann growled softly in his ear, hand working mercilessly and _Jesus_! For a moment Danny wasn’t there at all, he was far away, safe, laughing in the bright sun, feeling nothing but happiness and pleasure.

Then it was over. He’d come. McCann had made him come. That distant corner of his mind that still sounded like _him_ was screaming at him in fury, but he couldn’t hear his own words.

“Shhh, Danny. Shhh. It’s okay. You’re safe. Just rest. Tonight is just for you, I won’t touch you. No one is going to hurt you. I'm here now.”

He moaned helplessly, far beyond confused now. McCann was still twirling his fingers expertly over the sensitive head of Danny’s cock. His hips flexed on their own, McCann knowing exactly what to do to gain a lasting response. Then McCann let his dick go, began to caress him softly, soothing him once more. Utterly helpless, Danny drifted again, now in a post-orgasmic haze.

When McCann broke the lengthened silence and began to speak, it seemed like a dream. The mercenary was using a low voice. It sounded raw and honest and that was brand new. There was none of the usual spiteful bravado, no mocking tone.

“I understand how you feel, you know, Danny.” There was a hesitation, a broken breath. “My father… he used to lock me up. Rape me. He killed my mother one day when she caught him touching me. She tried to protect me and he strangled her in front of me- they never found her body. I don’t know what he did with her. No one really gave a shit, we were poor. She was a heroin addict of all things. Can’t blame her for needing the escape, of course. And he got away with it all. Right up until I snapped. I killed him, Danno, with my bare hands. Loved every second of it. I suppose that launched my career really.”

Danny screwed up his face. Was he dreaming again? No, McCann’s arms were tight around him. The warm water was still soothing his aching muscles. He wished he could think more clearly.

Spense had been raped when he was a little boy? He’d watched his mom die?

Danny’s soft heart twisted.

The chest beneath his body contracted sharply a few times. Was McCann crying? No, that couldn’t be right. Could it?

“I’ve never told _anyone_ that before, Danny. You’re the first. There’s just something about you… I’ll swear, you’re changing me Danno. I was so scared of him. He controlled every fucking move I made. I guess that’s why I do it to people too. I’m sorry. I wish I could change and you, Danno… you’re changing me. I can feel it. You _belong_ with me.”

What was going on? If this was real… McCann sounded almost _human_. Danny needed to string thoughts together, he needed to try to understand what was happening here.

“I’d like to make things better for you Danny. What can I do to make things a little easier?”

The tiniest flicker of hope ignited in Danny’s chest and he began to shake again as the only thing he really wanted smacked him between the eyes. The thing he hadn’t let himself think of for days. “I want to go home,” he rasped, because he still knew _that_. He needed his kids. He needed… Steve’s name was at the edge of his mind, but now that illogical associated fear was there, rearing its ugly head. Danny shut it down, fast. His kids. He missed his kids. That was still a given. “Please. Please can I go home?”

McCann sucked his bottom lip noisily then groaned. “I’m sorry petal. That’s the one thing I can’t do. You’re still mine. I _need_ you, can’t you see that? I’d still do anything to make sure things say that way. No.”

And the hope was gone, ripped away. Whatever sentiments McCann was feeling, it wasn’t regret at having taken him. A silent tear ran down Danny’s cheek.  

“Shhhh, Danno,” McCann crooned. “No, I won’t ever let you go. You _belong_ with me, remember? But maybe one day soon… maybe I’ll retire. Give up this life. Would you like that? You and me living in some villa somewhere. No guns, no plots. New identities, nothing to hide from. We could get Grace and Charlie. They could come live with us. Go to the best schools, buy them  _anything_. We’d spoil them rotten, you and me.”

Danny moved his head from side to side, totally, completely confused. Grace and Charlie… and McCann. And him. God, he would love to see them. But they wouldn’t be safe, not with McCann there. Would they? Not with _Walker,_ anyway. How would Walker even fit into the bizarre scenario?

McCann seemed to be reading his thoughts. Or maybe he was talking out loud. He felt so vague it was more than possible.

“Sometimes I think Dylan and I… I think our time together has run its course. I think maybe I should take a new lover.” He kissed Danny’s hair. “Maybe Dylan is right to be jealous. Maybe it could be you, if you ever really stop fighting me. You are good, I’ll give you that. But you haven’t really given yourself to me, have you? I would like you to _want_ to be with me, not just go through the motions. You should let me look after you, let me protect you. Let me make you feel good. Let yourself love me the way I love you.”

Danny frowned, failing to find the words to respond to the bizarre situation. McCann _really_ loved him? That was crazy. Dylan had accused him of having feelings, but that was….

Danny was breathing harder again and McCann’s arm tightened around his chest. Then the mercenary was reaching over the side of the tub. His hand came back with a bottle of those precious pills. “Here, petal. You’ve been so good. You've earned these. Have another dose.”

Danny dry-swallowed the medication McCann pushed between his lips without argument, then sighed quietly as the numbing haze around him thickened even further. McCann was silent, allowing him to drift, benevolently letting the drugs work their magic and Danny was grateful for that.

A minute or two later and he was almost asleep. All of the pain had gone now, the fever was irrelevant, the sickness had settled. He felt so good, so relaxed.

“Petal… you said before that ‘it wasn’t Steve’. Why did you say that?”

McCann’s quiet question slid into Danny’s mind and he shuddered, eyes fluttering open, the horror of Walker’s attacks still close to the surface. “ _W-wasn’t_ him,” he breathed, insistent. “Wasn’t Steve. Wasn’t….”

“Shhhhh,” McCann hushed. “It’s okay. I know you’re upset. You know it wasn’t him but you heard his voice and it upset you. You’re bound to be scared of him after that, and that’s got to be hard on you. He used to be your best friend and now you just can’t trust him. I understand. It’s like he hurt you. Like Steve McGarrett raped you. Bastard!”

Danny frowned. Emotional responses were floating around inside him but just not connecting. And there was more. There was something off about all of that, something….

He couldn’t think, couldn’t analyze the words, couldn’t decide what fit and what didn’t. Even trying was exhausting. He gave up, heavy eyelids falling shut. But McCann knew how he felt, knew the voice thing had messed him up. McCann understood Danny, without Danny even having to try to explain. It was yet another thing to feel grateful about.    

It must have showed on his face, because McCann got that too.

“I understand because I _know_ you, because I _love_ you. And you love me too. C’mon, Danno.” The words were whispered in his ear as the drug took its fullest effect. McCann’s warm breath tickled against his skin pleasantly. “Try it. Try saying the words. Say ‘I love you, Spense.” Come on, it’s okay to call me ‘Spense’ now. You don’t have to call me ‘Sir’ when it’s just you and me together. Save that for show, when the others are watching. Try out the words. ‘I love you, Spense.”

Danny obeyed automatically. “I love you, Spense.” His tongue felt thick. The extra dose of drugs was having a weird effect. He said the words and they felt okay passing his lips.

McCann moaned softly, kissed the side of his face again. “Oh petal, that sounds good. Again.”

“I love you, Spense.” But it wasn’t true, that ever-more-distant corner of his mind reminded him.

More soft kisses, more whispered words and the thought died. It dropped away, forgotten, pulled out to sea by the tide of narcotics.

McCann hushed him. Said everything was okay, said to relax. He obeyed. Maybe, just maybe McCann… no, not McCann. _Spense_. Maybe Spense really loved him. Maybe this really marked an end to the worst times.

Maybe he could pretend to love Spense back too. It didn’t matter if it was true or not. Grace would be safe and his life would be bearable. Spense loved him. He had come back for him. And now Danny knew it wasn’t Spense’s fault that he was the way he was. He’d been made like that, abused and unloved. Life had been unfair to Spense. Danny should be good to Spense, he owed him that much.

“Again.”

“I love you, Spense.” He could pretend it was true.

“I love you too, Danno. Again.”

“I love you, Spense.” It was coming out easier now, sounding more convincing.

“Good boy. _Good_ boy. Again.”

As they played Spense’s game, the words rolled off his tongue more and more naturally. Danny had no escape, he was weak and he was beaten. But he had Spense. The one person he could rely on, who understood him, who loved him.

It all felt wrong but he just couldn’t remember why anymore.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

They had nothing.

Steve sat alone in his pitch black house, ridden with the darkest self-loathing and despair. Everything felt wrong. The house was cold and empty. The memories of family and friends here in happy times that usually kept him company when he was by himself were steeped in pain now they had lost Danny.

He shut them out.

He felt sore and sick. He had overdone things while he was still healing and should have been resting. Now the trail had gone cold and the adrenaline had left him, he was finally suffering the consequences. Nausea ebbed and flowed like the tide. He hadn’t eaten for… hours at least. Not since Kono had stood over him and made him. But he wasn’t hungry at all.

He rubbed an index finger around the rim of the glass in his hand before raising it to his dry lips. He took a sip. It was a good single malt but right then it tasted sour. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, but then downed the rest anyway. The burning trail it forged down his gullet felt good.

He shifted a little. The recliner was too comfortable. He didn’t feel he deserved it after letting Danny down in such a massive way, but he was too tired to move. Wiped out, exhausted and beaten by McCann. The bastard had won. Sure, it looked like Five-0 and freaking INTERPOL had thwarted his plan. McCann had lost both scientists, one way or another. Five-0 had exposed the mole the man had in HPD.

But he and the core members of his team had got away, the chemical weapon was still MIA… and he _still had Danny_.

Steve swore, face crumpling, then gritted his teeth and emptied his glass, refilling it right away.

 _Danny_. Steve had been so careful not to dwell on him- on how much he missed him and what he had to have gone through. He knew the forensic report from the penthouse off by heart, detail by sickening detail. But now, with no new leads surfacing, it really looked like they had left Oahu. Danny could be lost to them for good, destined to be used by McCann for the rest of his life, no matter how short that might be. And what sort of life would it be?

A lump was forming in Steve’s throat, thick and choking. He downed another glass. Head suddenly spinning, crippling emotions knocking at the door, he reached over to pick up the bottle on the side table for yet another refill.

His cell was lying beside it. He hesitated, then altered his planned trajectory and picked it up. Switching it on, he went straight for a photo of his partner. Blue eyes sparkling with mirth, blond hair bright in the sun. They’d been surfing that day and his shirt was open, his broad chest tanned and muscular. He looked good. It was no surprise, really, that McCann had wanted him.

“Danny. _Fuck_. I’m so sorry,” he whispered brokenly. “But you shoulda _told_ me where you were! You shoulda _trusted_ me to keep everyone safe, you stupid, stubborn _bastard_!”

He flicked away from the picture hurriedly, but found himself straying into ever more dangerous territory. Never making the conscious decision, he went to his audio files, opened the recording of that phone call. That astonishing, unbelievable first and last contact that had morphed rapidly into fuel for the nightmares that haunted his rare moments of sleep.

_“Who is this? Is anyone there?”_

The gruffness of his own voice made him cringe, but then Danny spoke, hoarse and quiet and Steve held his breath, needing to hear every sound, every syllable.

 _"S-Ssteve? Steve.”_  

He heard his own astonishment, remembered how fucking amazing it had felt to hear his name pass those lips again. But the inkling of hope that had been in Danny’s voice at that moment disappeared fast. He sounded broken and desperate as he begged Steve to leave him to his fate. To leave him with McCann without even trying to find him.

He was giving up his life in the belief it was the only way he could keep everyone he loved safe from McCann. And Steve couldn’t even fault him for that. McCann had got into Steve’s home, shot him. McCann had had eyes on Grace and Charlie and Rachel. McCann had taken _Danny_. No wonder Danny had lost his faith in Steve. 

 _“Steve…_ _goodbye._ _”_ Danny sobbed on the cell, and Steve felt the pain like a bullet to the gut all over again.

As the recording ended, he hit replay. The light of the cell blurred as tears starting to burn hot tracks down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry Danny. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

He heard the words he had said to his friend, maybe the last words he would ever say to him. They sounded empty and meaningless. He swore. He should have been more persuasive, He should have lied, made up anything to convince Danny he could come home. He had failed. He hadn’t even told Danny he missed him. He loved him.

Danny sounded so lonely, so broken and Steve couldn’t stop himself trying to image the horrors of Danny’s new existence. The ghost of McCann’s lingering hands ran down his own chest and he shuddered violently. He sobbed, gut-wrenching and uncontrolled.

Biting his lip, hard, he reached for the bottle with trembling fingers and poured himself another glass. He almost dropped it when his cell rang in his lap. He peered at it, wiping at his eyes.

_Unknown number calling._

Steve almost dinged the call, almost threw the freaking cell across the room. He’d had enough, he was _done_. But he didn’t. At the end of the day, he was still head of Five-0, still adopted Uncle to two devastated children. He had responsibilities. He sighed in defeat, the weight on his shoulders pressing him down so hard that lifting his hand to his ear was suddenly an effort.

“McGarrett,” he rasped, pressing fingers to the bridge of his nose and biting back his hitching breaths.

_“Don’t say a word. Always assume he’s watching. I’m sending a grid ref. There’s a pier ten clicks west of that position, use that one, not the closer one- it’s under guard. I’ll RV with you in two days’ time, 1800 hours. Silent approach. You’ll need an experienced extraction team. People you trust.”_

Steve's jaw dropped. Was this about... Danny? Was this... ? Now rigid with tension, Steve gaped for a moment before realizing the deep voice on the other end of the line was done, about to hang up. 

“Wait…! Wait, I’ll come _now_ , I’ll....” Steve began, then peered around himself, paranoid. Always assume he’s watching? The next words chilled him to the bone.

 _“No! They’ll kill him before they give him up! You have to wait. Come when I say. I can get you to him then, not before. Look...."_ There was a pause, an audibly shaky exhale. _“Look, they’ve gone too far with him. I can’t just watch it anymore. Just come.”_

Then the line went dead. Steve lowered his cell, stared at it in astonished confusion. A text appeared. He opened it.

_21°09’50.0”N 156°54’23.9”W._

Co-ordinates. He frowned, maps he knew backwards running through his mind.

 _Molokai_. It was on Molokai. East side if he remembered right.

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. He could hardly dare hope that what had just happened wasn’t merely a figment of his imagination. A product of whisky fueled desperation.

The anonymous caller might actually be handing them the opportunity they’d been praying for every single hour, every single day, for six endless weeks.

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters.
> 
> This MAY be riddled with mistakes- we are both super-tired and running around preparing for work trips (not together, alas!) BUT we wanted to get it out there, so here it is anyway!

 

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

How many days might have passed since Walker’s attacks, Danny had no notion. Now he drifted from one surreal scene to the next, never quite understanding or grasping what was going on around him.

Spenser McCann had known innately what Danny needed after the attack, of course, and had made it happen. What Danny needed was safety and peace and sleep. Drugs too, for his pain and for his broken mind and to make that sleep happen.

Danny blinked his eyes open again, awakening in the vaguest sense for the hundredth time. Each time he woke, he first stared up at that unblinking eye in the light fitting to know he was safe. If Spense wasn’t by Danny’s side, if work had pulled him away, he would be monitoring Danny through the CCTV system from another room. He had promised, and he had still never lied to Danny. Not once.

His dull gaze flitted away from the camera and around the dimly lit room, taking nothing in. There was nothing to catch his vacant eye. All traces of Danny’s ordeal had been diligently removed from the bedroom. The bed had been made up again with crisp, clean sheets. The walls and the carpet had been scrubbed by a tense, silent Leon. The bloodied handcuffs were gone. There was nothing there to remind him.

Danny’s head was empty. He was a disinterested passenger in a body which had taken too much abuse. He knew on some level he was sick, knew something must have got infected along the way. He knew everything hurt, and that he was hot and shaky and ill. But he felt so remote from his body that none of those things seemed to touch him. He was aware enough to be grateful for the drugs that ran thick in his veins, at least.

That little voice inside him that had tried to make him remember to question the drugs and the things he was told was getting quieter and quieter the more time went by, the more pills he was given, the weaker he became. He hadn’t heard it for some time. He didn’t question that either.

He only remembered snatches of conversation, flashes of events.

He remembered a screaming row between Spense and Walker, distant enough that he couldn’t make out a single word, but even in his drugged state he heard the fury in Spense’s voice. The fear in Walker’s.

It had made Danny shudder, made him see the things Walker had done to him again in spite of the drugs. The man had made him genuinely  _scream_.  He had done things to him which Danny _wanted_ to forget.  The pain, the sound of Steve’s voice, the suffocation.

Danny had lain there and heard his protector, the man who would single-handedly stop that monster from hurting him again, shout Walker down.

 _Safe. He was safe with Spense._ _He belonged with Spense. Everything would be okay as long as he stayed with Spense. He_ loved _Spense._

As he floated to and fro, he heard whispers in his ear over and over again in the blackness, in voices that sounded like Spense’s, sounded like his own, sounded like _Walker_ _’_ _s_ \- and _that_ made no sense.

None of it mattered. His eyes fell shut and he floated alone in the darkness once more.

Everything shifted again, and when reality poked through the haze once more, he had been clothed and moved. He was _sitting_ now, pressed up against something solid and warm. A body. He inhaled sharply, but caught a hint of Spense’s aftershave, and relaxed automatically.

He tried to blink things into focus, and moaned softly as he saw Walker staring at him from the other side of what looked to be the living room, his face dark with hate. The man was pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Panic dimly rising, Danny tried to move.

A hand fell onto his knee, a big arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him protectively against the warm body beside him. “It’s okay,” Spense murmured gently. “I’m here. Relax. You’re safe.”

Then Danny heard Walker speak, a million miles away. “Spense …. I’m not going to hurt him again, I promise. I just want to join in, that’s all. I love you! Come on, let me fuck his mouth while you fuck his ass. Come on! I’ll be gentle!” 

Danny shook his head weakly against Spense’s strong shoulder. He closed his eyes as Walker continued to talk, allowed the drugs to make his mind vacant, make his feelings numb. But he was shaken back to the present, sweat beading his upper lip, as a big hand fell to the top of his head. He squinted his eyes open, blinking blearily against the brightness of the sun as it reflected off the tiled floor.  He reeled in place stupidly, unco-ordinated, steadied only by the arm around his shoulders.

“I said no, Dylan, and I meant it,” Spenser replied. “You tore him up so badly I couldn’t have him if I wanted. If you think you deserve a turn after the way you behaved….”

The hand now caressed the top of Danny’s head gently, the fingers warm and soothing. Danny breathed in a deeper breath, his ears were buzzing and sweat was beginning to drip down his back at the effort it was taking to simply be upright.    

A few feet away- closer now- Walker cursed loudly.

“Dare to challenge me, boy? You’ve disappointed me.” Spenser hissed between clenched teeth.  Danny’s body wavered in place as Spenser leaned forward to make his words more meaningful, jostling him slightly off-balance. “Danny would never behave like you have, would you pet?”   

Head wobbling on his shoulders, Danny made a weak attempt to shake it.

“Good boy,” Spenser cooed dramatically.  “But you’re trembling. You’re upset, I think. Open your mouth. I want you to relax and not worry so much; don’t think so hard.”

Glancing up, Danny accepted the additional dose of medication which Spense pushed into his mouth. No questions asked, just entirely relieved that he’d have more in the way of drugs to help distract him from the presence of Walker.

“Thank you,” Danny murmured, his voice hoarse, constricted by his still-swollen throat. His head bobbed back down awkwardly, his chin hitting his chest.

Spenser stroked his hair and the side of his face.  “I love you, Danno. Do you love me?”

Danny closed his eyes and unglued his lips, moistened them, before he easily pushed out the words which Spense was waiting to hear. 

“Spense. Yes, yes … I… I love you.” In the end, there was no effort at all in saying it. In fact, it felt right to say and Danny relaxed, not even feeling a need to open his eyes or argue the way his brain seemed to simply .… _pause_.

“Good boy. Here, have a pillow. Lie down beside me. I’ll keep you safe.” Reaching out, Danny’s hands were shaking as he gathered the pillow closer, only to do what he’d been told.  The room was warm and the pillow, soft. He didn’t think about what it meant or consider what it might look like.

Then time kind of warped and twisted and, when he woke again it was to another change;  warm, soft bed, but that loving arm still around him.

Vague flashes of staggering through to the bedroom, obediently following behind McCann for all his body wanted to do nothing more than collapse, trickled forward, and Danny knew he must have done well managing that because the hand on his cock was moving just right, rewarding his efforts.

It was Spense, and he had one hand wrapped around both of them, slick with lube. Danny moaned and shuddered, then came hard on his own belly.

He sagged back against the pillow, panting for breath, his head swimming.

Spense showered him with kisses and he rose up to meet them carefully, trying to get everything perfect- his mouth open, his tongue responsive- exactly how the mercenary liked it.

A wanton groan later, those kisses shifted to trace a meandering path away from Danny’s lips, across the line of his jaw, teeth nipping and teasing. “That’s my boy… my good boy. But I’m not quite there yet. Will you suck me? It would make me feel so good. You don’t have to, though. I’d _never_ make you. I love you.”

“I love you too, S-Spense,” he replied without needing to think again.  _Keep him happy. Everyone will be safe. He_ _’_ _ll protect everyone. He loves me._ Danny knew what he had to do, for all he was unsure if he would be able to move his own body- it barely felt connected to him.

Somehow he did. He shuffled to the edge of the bed and dropped to his knees on the floor, hands shifting behind his back.

Spense hummed in complete approval, but then hesitated, took a step _back_ instead of forwards. Confused, Danny glanced up with heavy eyes to see the mercenary staring up at the light fitting which was now right above his head.

“Here, petal, shift over here,” Spense murmured. “Come to me.”

Danny shuffled forwards unquestioningly until his knees were inches from Spense’s feet once more. The man towered over him, his weeping erection jutting out right in front of Danny’s face.

“Now _that_ is perfect. You love me, Danno?” Spense was repeating himself, but that was okay. It helped Danny remember what was real.

“Yeah. L-love you.” The right words, the words he knew Spense needed, were an automatic response. They felt _true_.  They felt _right_.

“You trust me to protect you?”

“Yes.”

 "You're not scared of me, but Danno, you’re scared of Steve McGarrett now, aren’t you?”

Danny glanced up uncertainly, the room shifting as he weaved drunkenly. “Yes,” he said, weak voice forlorn because that was true too.

McCann cocked his head, pulled an expression of pure empathy. “Well he can’t hurt you now, Danno. Now do you want to blow me? You don’t have to, I mean that. Only if you _want_ to taste me, petal.”

“Y-yeah,” Danny replied softly, before opening his mouth wide. The instant Danny did so, Spense pushed in solidly, gripping the blond’s hair tight.

Danny took it all, let it all happen, licking and sucking just right, because McCann loved him and looked after him and everything would be okay if he did as he was told. He knew there would be no wretched mind games, no extra pain. No tricks, no Steve, no hand around his throat. Just a blow job, a simple token of affection and appreciation. He gave Spense what the man needed willingly. Carefully timed his breaths and suppressed his gag reflex as Spense shoved his cock in deep.

He didn’t know, he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. Then Spense was coming, thrusting hard down his throat as he did, and Danny fought to hold his breath and swallow repeatedly for as long as the man needed him to.

Spense pulled out sharply before he was done, let the last drops of spunk land on Danny’s face; his lips, his bruised cheek. Then he drew his fingers through the mess, pressed them into Danny’s mouth. Danny licked them clean just how he’d been taught, Spense’s appreciative groans spurring him on to try harder still to please.

The ground was doing that shifting thing beneath him, and Danny was grateful all over again when Spense grasped his shoulders before he could fall, then lifted him gently into the bed, pulling the covers over him.

“You’re such a good boy for me. Rest now,” the mercenary whispered in his ear.

Danny nodded, his eyes falling shut. He felt McCann standing over him, felt his protective presence. His breathing evened out and he teetered on the edge of a blessedly deep sleep.

He heard the door close quietly then hushed voices whispering in the hall outside.

“Well?” it was Spense, his tone light.

A quiet chuckle, and that sounded like Walker. “You picked a fucking good angle, Spense. I was looking right down on it. Had to jerk myself off, man. It was hot! Nice addition to the compilation.”

“I have to do justice to Danno and I and our little love story, right?” Spense hissed in response. “Our romance is _blooming_.”

Another chuckle from Walker then, “But when it’s done… we’ve _gotta_ see McGarrett’s face when he gets it, right? Bit of sweet justice for Mercier. Anyway, things are moving again. Aster called in. The team leaders are en-route as planned and the geek is _nearly_ there with the code, I think, finally, thank _fuck_.”

Then they were gone, voices receding to nothing in a blink.

Danny knew those voices, had heard what they said, but none of that fit with anything he knew and he just couldn’t process the brief conversation. The words made no sense. He had to be dreaming. His mind was playing tricks on him.

He let himself drift, safe and warm.

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, it's got to be rescue time now! Surely!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters. 
> 
> Are we allowed to have favorite chapters? This one is well up there for both of us!

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Steve looked at his watch.

1800 hours. He scanned the surrounding forest for the hundredth time. Nothing.

 _Fuck_.

If this whole thing had been a wild goose chase. If this was going to turn out to be a dead end, with no rescue for Danny in sight, Steve was gonna… what? He had gone past mere desperation weeks ago. He’d passed frantic, he’d passed sick with worry. What was left? He felt… hollow. Lost. In the most terrible of ways he felt like they were too late. Danny had already been horribly abused. McCann had already gotten into his head just the same as he’d got into Mercier’s head.

Steve had failed him.

But now they had this chance, thanks to the voice on the phone. If it really was a chance. If it _wasn’t_ a wild goose chase, or a delaying tactic. A joke.

Or a trap.

They had never really established what had gone wrong when they had hit the pump station. Had it all been down to Davies, or was there more to it? Had it been a trap, one that had gone wrong? This could be McCann’s Take Two. But it could be real. It could be Steve’s instincts were right and it had been INTERPOL’s mole who had called him- he would be the obvious potentially friendly figure. But… if that was the case, why had he contacted _Steve_ instead of INTERPOL? And why wait until now?

Yet more unanswered questions.

If this _was_ a dead end, or a trap, or _anything_ other than a chance to finally get Danny home, Steve felt like he might just lose himself altogether.

He dipped his head for a moment, rested his brow on his gloved hands. He had to focus. He had to think about the here-and-now of the mission, not about the bigger picture. This could come good. They could get him back this time, end his ordeal. They had to get him back, they  _had_  to. They had to end his suffering and fix him. They _could_ fix him. They _would_.

Negative feelings temporarily corralled, Steve scanned his surroundings once more. 

Mist was curling around the assembled team in the eerie half-light, a clinging backdrop to the perpetual rain forest soundtrack of chirping and buzzing and random unexpected howls. The earthy scent of moist, rotting wood, of soil and lush vegetation, pervaded all.

Nature ruled this remote corner of Molokai. On the face of it, it seemed pretty damn unlikely McCann was here.

They had hiked ten kilometers through the dark, dense forest to get from the disused shell of a pier where they had been directed to moor to the RV co-ordinates. The satellite imagery they had scoured after the call had revealed nothing beyond two rickety piers- the one they had just used and a second closer to the RV point. No structures were visible anywhere close. No clearings. Nothing.

They had seen nobody en-route, heard nothing that spoke of human activity. If McCann really did have a base hidden way out here it would have to be accessed by chopper or sea, because there sure as hell were no roads. And access to the island was strictly controlled- the mercenary and his motley crew would have to sneak on and off the place every single time they went there. Not that that was impossible- Steve and his band of helpers had just achieved that very thing.

Trusting no one was becoming heavily ingrained in Steve’s psyche. 

But the RV had been chosen carefully and that gave Steve a glimmer of hope that this might somehow be  _real._  Much of the canopy of the forest that they had trekked through was so dense that virtually no light reached the ground. No light meant no undergrowth, and therefore minimal cover beyond the trunks of the forest giants themselves.  But, right at this point, things were subtly _different_. The towering native  _ʻōhiʻa lehua_ trees were more widely spaced. A soft, dappled light filtered through the canopy to the forest floor below so vegetation around them grew lush. High forest ferns and leafy climbing plants- some of which were in flower, the great white blooms a sharp contrast to the mosaic of greens- surrounded the men.

It was beautiful, a textbook example of the unspoiled natural tapestry of rare plants and exotic wildlife that Molokai was famed for. Steve couldn't give a shit about any of that. What counted was simple; the ground cover was good here, therefore it was a tactically sound location for an illicit meet... and that meant this might just be genuine. That was all that counted.

He shifted uncomfortably. His clothes were soaked through with sweat and water. It was humid and ridiculously hot, and swarming with biting insects. If Danny was here he was going to be hating it.   

That thought almost opened the door to other thoughts of things that Danny might be hating right now and Steve squeezed his eyes shut again, gritted his teeth against the black hole in his head that kept on threatening to consume him. He took a few deep breaths, then glanced up, hoping the team weren't picking up on his current mental fluctuations, because he was meant to be fucking _leading_ them. He looked surreptitiously at the face of each figure, each mud-smeared man clad in black just like he was. None of them were looking at him. They were silent, all focused intently on their surroundings, just as he should be.

The man on the phone had suggested an experienced extraction team and that was precisely what Steve had assembled.  This wasn’t the usual group. No HPD or SWAT. Definitely no INTERPOL. Steve had gone back to basics. 

After the anonymous call, Steve had immediately reached out to Commander Wade Gutches. His ex-SEAL teammate had readily accepted his request for help without even knowing all of the details, subsequently enlisting Lieutenant Bradley Jacks on the fly. They’d both met Danny before… and they’d both been stunned by the circumstances of this particular mission. After that, neither had hesitated and no other questions had been asked.  For that, Steve was distinctly thankful.  The team was a tight, cohesive compliment of trustworthy professionals.

Shifting silently, Steve automatically checked over the positions of each of his team members.  They had fanned out to provide cover to Steve were he crouched, waiting in silence. Chin was ten feet to Gutches left, both motionless in the shadows of the trees a stone’s throw to the east. Jacks was minding Steve’s six, nearly invisible to the naked eye. Nonetheless, Steve knew precisely where the man was without turning to look. He could sense his familiar, reassuring presence.

Kono and Lou were back at the boat, ensuring their means of egress remained secure. He had seen in their eyes they wanted to come ashore too, but they hadn’t argued. If their means of escape was compromised they might as well not have bothered coming.

He checked his watch. 1803 hours. It wasn't looking good. But then he heard it- a rustle in the rainforest. A movement- something large approaching. This could be it. Eyes wide, tension thrumming, he looked sharply at each of his colleagues in turn then cocked his gun, quiet as a mouse.

“It’s me! It’s just me,” a deep, male voice called from a distance away. “McGarrett? I phoned you.”

Steve stood and stepped forwards, gun leveled towards the sounds, his trust for the stranger less than zero. He held his ground as the lumbering shape of a large man came into sight, held it as Chin and Gutches leapt into action and felled the stranger without preamble, searching him and zip-tying his wrists with ruthless efficiency in cold, brutal silence.

They hauled him to his feet and stepped back.

Steve stared down their prisoner from less than two feet away. And ‘stared down’ was technically far from correct, because he was _huge_. Taller than Lou, his skin the same hue. And he was built of pure muscle. He could have put up a damn good fight, Steve realized. But he hadn’t resisted. Still, that didn’t mean he was to be trusted.

The man glared back at Steve furiously, panting hard. “Bastard! I’m trying to help you!”

“Yeah, well,” Steve hissed with a snort. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that I can’t trust anyone who’s been touched by Spenser McCann. He’s a devious bastard. Now talk. Where’s Detective Williams?”

The man held his gaze for long moments, dark eyes smoldering, arms flexing against the cuffs. Then he nodded curtly. “Okay. He’s being held in a compound three clicks east of here. You can’t get to him yet. McCann and Walker were due to leave the island on business for a few days an hour ago but there’s been some delay and I don’t know what’s going on. But they they’ll be leaving for at least a couple of hours soon. They’ve got a boat under cover at the pier near the compound- I heard them say they’re going to pack it up with equipment this evening. Your guy will only have four guards on him plus me. You want him today, that’s when to take him, because if you try when either of those two freaks are with him, they’ll slit his throat before they give him up. You understand?”

Steve stared at him, nostrils flaring. “You want to tell me why we should believe you? Who are you? Are you INTERPOL?”

Utterly unintimidated, the guy never flinched from Steve’s gaze. “I’m just Leon. I’m your only chance of helping him.”

Steve flexed his jaw muscles, watching the poker face in front of him. He had no idea, none at all, whether the story was true. But what option did they have but to play along? Shaking his head, he grabbed Leon by the shoulders and spun him round, then stuck the muzzle of his gun to the back of the guy’s head.

“So you show us the way to him, _now_ ,” Steve growled. “And you tell us when it’s safe to move in. And if this is a trap… I’m gonna put one right in your head before McCann takes me out. Be sure of that. Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Leon exclaimed, then, calmer, he repeated the word. “Wait. I have _every_ intention of taking you to him. I would hardly have contacted you otherwise, would I? But I’ve got to tell you a couple of things about what they’ve done to him. Believe me, it _is_ going to matter.”

“You think I’m an idiot?!” Steve snapped. “I know damn well what they’ve done to him and we’ll deal with it once he’s safe! He’s going to be _fine_.” He shoved at Leon’s back. “Enough stalling. Let’s go!”

But Leon dug in his heels, refusing to shift an inch. He laughed dryly. “McGarrett, you  _are_  a fucking idiot if you think it’s going to be that straightforward! I know you want to run in and save him, but McCann’s been playing games with him and it has the potential to complicate the rescue, so damn well listen to me!”

Steve blinked a few times, then lowered his gun and let Leon turn to face him. “What do you mean? I know he’ll be scared to leave. I get that. Is that what you mean? I can convince him, I know I can.”

Leon shook his head. “It’s gone way past that, McGarrett. He and McCann, they’ve got… closer.”

Steve’s hackles rose instantly. “What the hell do you mean, ‘closer’?!”

“What do I mean? I mean he thinks McCann is a guy who loves him and looks after him, because…”

And just  _no_! A blind fury reared up inside Steve and he grabbed Leon by the front of the shirt, twisting it and yanking the big man towards him. Reacting on what had to have been pure instinct, Steve felt Chin move towards him, half in support but also partly to head Steve off should he snap entirely before they’d even gone two feet further with their informant. 

“That’s bullshit!” he spat in Leon’s face, shirking roughly out from under Chin’s restraining hand.  “You have to be fucking kidding me! The bastard has been  _raping_ …” His voice broke on the last word and he stopped. He released Leon and stepped back, turning away, allowing Chin to be a momentary buffer of sorts while he tried to get his head together. It had fucking hurt to say that out loud.

When Steve turned back, his face still stricken, Leon was nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, he has. But McCann… he’s fucking obsessed with Danny and that wasn’t enough. Maybe it’s just cause Danny is a cop and he was tough. _Real_ tough, not like the others they’ve had. McCann had him by the balls but for the longest time you could see he was holding it together, going through the motions and just waiting for a chance…. McCann saw that too and took it as a challenge. But then McCann and Walker were _fucking_ pissed about losing the Merciers and they know that was down to you guys. That was when things really changed. Breaking Danny wasn’t enough anymore. McCann got Walker to do  _worse_  to him, just so McCann could play the big hero and make Danny think he’s on his side. I’m telling you, they’ve fucked with your guy’s head. He’s sick anyway. Weak. And they’ve been drugging him with fuck-knows-what. There’s just no resistance left in him, and they’ve taken advantage of that left, right and center. He’s buying into McCann’s game and it just might cause you problems.”

Steve listened in horror, then found himself fixating on one thing out of that whole stomach-turning clusterfuck of bad news. “Worse? Walker did worse? Wh-what do you mean he did  _worse_?” Because what could possibly be worse than being imprisoned and raped by a deviant like McCann?

He glanced towards Chin seeing his own horror mirrored in the Asian’s eyes.

“And exactly what kind of problems?” Chin asked, the question issued softly but laced with a dangerous tone. “What the hell have they done?"

The look that Leon gave each of them before he replied, the  _sympathy,_  made Steve feel sick right away. 

“They have this thing, this synthesizer. You’ve seen them use it before I think. Changes their voices into  _yours_.”

Steve stared at him, just stared because  _yes_ he had known that,  _yes_ he remembered that from when they’d lured Danny to his house after they’d shot him all those weeks earlier. But what could they possibly have done to Danny that would….

“Oh God. No…” Steve croaked out as realization hit him.

“Walker used it when he… hurt Danny. And Danny  _knows_ it was Walker, he knows it wasn’t you….” Leon hesitated uncertainly. “At least I think he still does. He’s not talking anymore unless McCann wants him to, so it’s hard to know what he’s thinking. But I know he’s confused. It could be that your voice… he might think….”

“He might think I’m Walker? Or he might... he might be scared of _me_?” Steve cut in. And now a fucking lump was growing in Steve’s throat, because this was just getting worse and worse, but he couldn’t cry, not now, not here. And Danny had thought  _he_  had... done what? Suddenly the specifics really mattered and Steve found himself voicing that very question to Leon.

The man fixed Steve with a look and shook his head once. “ _Everything_. Okay? McCann watched it all on the fucking CCTV and he wanted me to see it with him, just because… fuck, I don’t know. He thought I’d get a kick out of it too, I guess. I have to act like I don’t give a shit about him. Like I’m the same as the rest of them. Yeah. Walker did everything, and yeah Danny thought it was you, he thought you’d come to get him out of there and then Walker started his perverted shit. Danny was drugged, he was out of it. And Walker was behind him, so he couldn’t see. And then he was _blindfolded_ … so yeah. He definitely thought it was you some of the time.” Leon paused, shaking his head again.

Steve realized he wasn’t even breathing anymore because… just  _fuck_!! He bit his lip  _hard_.

Leon gave him a sad little smile. “He fought it. He really tried to remember it wasn’t you. He _did_. Kept saying it, over and over. It really mattered to him. You must be a good friend.”

Steve nodded dumbly, gulping for breath, eyes seeking Chin’s then shifting to the forest floor when he met only sick horror and disbelief in his team-mate’s gaze.

And then he remembered to be angry, so fucking angry, because this man had been with Danny from the start. He could have stopped this any time. His grip tightened on his weapon as he spoke, his face moving closer to Leon’s again. “ _Leon_ … Leon, if you are who I think you are… you _let_ all this happen to him, you  _let_ it happen because of your fucking mission. Why didn’t you call us in all this… before they…  _fuck_!”

Leon’s face twisted in anger. “I fucking  _did_ try to help him! He called you, didn’t he? How do you think he got that cell? I fucking gave him it! I’d had it, had enough of waiting for INTERPOL to pull the plug. So I let him call you. The CCTV was down and I kept the guards distracted so they wouldn’t hear. I gave him that fucking chance. Then I fucking  _waited_  for you to come and you never fucking came! I guess it was already too late by then. I guess he didn’t tell you what he needed to tell you because McCann’s hold on him was already too strong. Right?”

Steve gaped, then ran a hand down his face.

“Look,” said Leon, calmer now, quieter. “This shit that they do is a constant thing. They’re animals and they always have a pet to torture. I had a mission to complete and a lot more than one life depended on it. Still does! But what they’ve done to Danny… _fuck_. I couldn’t let it go on!” He shook his head, grimacing. “The people they collect to play with- they usually just fuck ‘em for a day or two then kill ‘em and move on. It’s hard to watch, but it’s over pretty quick. With your friend… they just won’t  _stop_. I told my handler what was happening, but she wouldn’t pull the plug and send teams in to extract us from the Meridian. Said INTERPOL still needed more. They wanted the location of the chemical weapon and I just don’t have that yet! I’m relatively new in McCann’s team. They still keep me on the fringes. I only know a fraction of what goes on. But then the thing with Walker- that was the last straw for me. I was struggling before, but after that I called you the next chance I got, okay?”

And that… that was starting to sound all _wrong_. Alarms began to blare in Steve’s head. “But INTERPOL told us you’d dropped out of touch! You were unreliable. And that they don’t need the location of the weapon urgently any more because it wasn’t complete. It’s not a threat.”

Leon snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah well. They’ll only ever tell you want they want you to hear, McGarrett. It’s always been about the weapon, ever since the powers that be worked out who had the Merciers. It’s _still_ all about this weapon. They never cared about Danny. I told my handler McCann was coming for him two days before it happened, but they decided they couldn’t let on they knew because we didn’t know what stage the weapon was at. They just let it happen. They knew we were at the Meridian too, but they wouldn’t risk moving in and leaving that weapon out there. They just wouldn’t do it.”

It was like the ground fell out from under him. Steve stared at him, shocked to the very core. If this man was telling the truth, and that was still a big ‘if’, all of this could have been avoided? _All_ of it? INTERPOL could have saved Danny at _any_ point? An overwhelming myriad of emotions flowed through him, and he heard Chin swearing softly beside him.

“Who’s your handler?” Steve choked out, barely keeping a lid on his rage.

Leon bit his lip thoughtfully, then shrugged. “They’re going to make me disappear after this anyway, if I don't do it myself. You might as well know. My handler is Agent Cynthia LaRouche. You’ve had contact with her, I believe.”

“Jesus Christ! Yes. Yes, you could say that.” Steve turned to shoot an incredulous look at Chin, who was staring at Leon, jaw hanging open.

If this was true… and Steve was sure as hell going to find out… he was going to kill her. He was actually going to kill her! If this was true, she had kept them in the dark and played them like idiots for the sake of their own secret priorities. If this was true; she had almost caused Steve to die. And Danny….

Leon’s eyes were wide with sympathy. “Come on, we should go. They’ll miss me soon. They think I’ve gone hunting so if you see a fucking boar, shoot it. And you better take these things off my wrists cause that’s gonna look pretty fucking weird when I get back. Right?”

“Right.” Steve croaked, but stood there, rooted to the spot, unraveling inside. If this was true… _none of this needed to have happened. None of it_. It was too much. He was torn between wanting to pound LaRouche into the ground and wanting to curl up in a ball and cry for what Danny had been put through unnecessarily.

Chin stepped forwards, his composure worthy of a medal. He cut Leon loose, shooting Steve a look.  _Keep it together. We worry about LaRouche afterwards. We need you._

Chin shoved Leon forwards and the assembled team followed on behind him. Steve watched them, breathing hard through his nose. He shook his head, trying in vain to clear it, before he fell into step behind them.

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Steve watched the goings on at the compound in the rainforest shielded by the jet black of his attire.

He hunkered down low, artfully blending into the scenery with scarcely a breath passing his lips. Leon was beside him, sweating heavily in the humid forest, his eyes darting nervously around. Nearby, Chin, Gutches and Jacks were similarly hidden.

Jacks had the surveillance camera out now, the lens protruding between the soft fronds of a fern. They were aiming for a clean extraction, not a full round-up… but they could at the very least capture the faces of all the bastards who still had McCann’s back. They could worry about catching every last piece of scum once Danny was safe on Oahu.

The digital shutter was silent as it open and closed constantly, gathering precious evidence.

They had clocked the four arm guards on the perimeter already. Inside, some fifty feet from their hiding places, a seating area outside open French windows was a hive of activity. Men, armed and dressed in black, came and went. They were preparing to move out for sure- to do what? Steve couldn’t even make himself care enough to speculate. The mission, the supposedly incomplete weapon; he couldn’t care less. The fact the bad guys were leaving- if Leon was being straight with them- was all that mattered.

But they had yet to see any sign of McCann, or Walker, or _Danny_.

Walker came out first, and the flare of furious aggression Steve felt at the sight of the man who had brutalized his partner in his name was like nothing he had experienced before in his life. The cold, burning need to kill him was so intense he nearly stood up and fired immediately. He dropped his gaze, fixed it on the base of a tree and panted through gritted teeth.

“Steve!”

Chin’s hushed exclamation had him looking up again and…  _fuck_. There he was. There was Danny, and God, Steve was going to kill them, every last one of them, he was going to make them scream and choke on their own blood for what they had done to his best friend.

The proud, upright, opinionated blond who had pissed Steve off time and time again with his loud, relentless nagging and good-natured teasing, the guy whose endless strength and loyalty had led him to every corner of the globe just to have Steve’s back… he was _gone_.

Clad only in loose pants as he was, nothing of his condition was concealed. The pale, bruised face. The sunken hollow belly, the wastage of muscle, conspired to make him seem small and slight. Steve could count his _ribs,_ he was so thin. And his countenance- head bowed meekly, eyes downcast- his entire posture one of complete submission. He moved in Spenser McCann’s footsteps, an obedient shadow on unsteady legs, unkempt hair flopping down over his face.

Steve shuddered involuntarily as his gaze momentarily flitted to McCann himself. Exuding confidence and smug authority, the loathed figure, star of a thousand of Steve’s nightmares, both real and imagined, stopped by his other men and sank into a chair. 

And then Steve sucked in a shocked breath as Danny Williams dropped to his knees beside McCann without direction or hesitation and stayed there, hands behind his back, eyes on the ground. Utterly silent and utterly still and so _not Danny_.

Jacks was going with the camera again, recording the irrefutable evidence that _these_ men had Danny Williams, that they had done _this_ to him. They were _not_ going to get away with any of it.

Steve felt a hand grip his arm tight and glanced sharply to the side. Chin had moved closer and yeah, he could see why, because right then Steve wanted a bloodbath. He wanted to storm in and destroy those  _bastards_. He’d known… but seeing firsthand how they’d changed Danny. He was never, never going to forget this. He was never going to forgive anyone concerned, himself included.

His heart was breaking.

And then it got worse.

Five minutes of animated discussion later, the men began to move back into the house and McCann got to his feet. Every muscle in Steve’s body tensed for action.  _Please God, let this be the end of it,_   _let them leave, please God let us get him out now_.

But it wasn’t the end of it. McCann turned on the lanai, one hand lewdly adjusting himself through the black fabric of his slacks. His target was Danny and Steve shifted his weight from one knee to the other, his breath literally trapped in his chest, as the mercenary stood over his kneeling friend. McCann stroked his fingers through Danny’s hair, the blond man never reacting.

 _“_ Easy Steve _,”_ Chin whispered in his ear. But he felt the same way- Steve could hear it in his carefully controlled tone, feel it in the electric tension radiating between them.

They watched helplessly as McCann traced his fingers possessively over the ridge of Danny’s cheekbone, his thumb running over his upper lip. Danny opened his mouth to allow the older man access. He did it  _willingly_. There was no argument, no force applied. McCann pushed his fingers in, then he unzipped his pants.

Steve shook his head in complete denial, because no way, no way would the guy try anything _now_ , surely? Not in front of all those men, not out here in the open, not….

But Leon grabbed his other arm and held it tight. Steve turned to look at him, eyes widening in horror when he saw the guy’s expression. The apology there.

“Please,” Leon hissed. “Just wait until they go. I know this is the first time you’ve seen this so it seems bad, but remember this is  _not_  the first time this has happened to him by a long way. It’s not the  _worst_  thing that’s happened to him by a long way either. This is… _nothing_ to him now. One more time is going to make no difference whatsoever. Let it happen. Don’t screw this up by jumping the gun if you want to get him out in one piece, okay?  _Wait_.”

Steve could hear the blood pounding in his ears. This had to be a dream. He had to be dreaming, because no way could this actually be happening. This had to be another fucking nightmare!

His head snapped back round to the front in time to see Danny, hands still behind his back, taking McCann’s cock into his mouth. Steve’s feet moved of their own accord, scrabbling at the forest floor, trying to find purchase to push him up off his knees, because just  _no_! But with Leon on one arm and Chin on the other, he was going nowhere.

Steve sagged, staring dumbly at the unfathomable scene playing out in front of him. It was as if his brain was overloaded, had been shut down and he had to fight to reboot it. Fight to focus on the mission. To compartmentalize. Leon’s words had made sense, but here he was, squatting in the forest while his best friend was brutalized fifty feet away and _nothing_ about that made sense and….

“Chin? Chin,” he breathed shakily, _desperate_ , not even knowing what he was asking for. His _whole body_ was shaking like a machine on overload. _He was gonna lose it_. He was going to start shooting people and damn the consequences. He glanced at Chin, wide-eyed. But the Asian man was in no state to act as Steve's impromptu anchor. He was looking down at the forest floor and his eyes were full of tears. He wasn’t watching. Steve shouldn’t watch either. He turned his head to watch anyway, because Danny shouldn’t suffer through this alone.

Danny was going red, he couldn’t breathe! McCann was clutching his hair and thrusting in way too deep and he couldn’t breathe! Steve had to _help_ him.

He tried to lurch to his feet again, but a beefy arm materialized around his neck and Steve knew it was Gutches right away, the total bastard. And now his vision was blurring and that was bad, that was really bad. He couldn't do this, he couldn't cope with this, he couldn't....

But when he blinked the tears away, it was over.

McCann was zipping up, laughing with Walker. Danny was bent over double, breathing hard. It was over.

Steve stilled his struggles, vibrating from head to foot with the sheer shock and horror of it. As Gutches’ chokehold eased, he gasped for breath. “Jesus Christ.  _Jesus Christ_. Danny,” he murmured, eyes never leaving his partner.

Leon cleared his throat. “He’s okay, McGarrett. Calm the fuck down. I have to go in. They’ll be leaving now and they’ll want me there with him. You stay here until I switch the light on inside the patio doors. That’s your signal. Take out the guards and he’s yours.”

With that the big man tromped off into the forest, circling the compound to come in a different route.

Steve couldn’t take his eyes off his partner now.  _Not long, Danny. Not long. That_ _’_ _s the last time, buddy. He_ _’_ _s not gonna touch you again. I_ _’m gonna protect you. I’_ _m gonna make things right._

He watched with bated breath as McCann approached his kneeling partner again and murmured some unheard instruction.

Danny lurched to his feet, unsteady. God, he looked sick. He was white as a sheet from head to foot, body littered with bruises visible even from that distance.

_No more._

Steve continued to watch, his stress off the scale and his stomach churning a warning as McCann stood, as though waiting for Danny to do…  _something_.

His mouth gaped wide in shock as Danny leaned forward to kiss McCann without hesitation, needing to rise on his toes to reach up and meet the older man’s lips. There was the briefest of pauses before McCann invaded Danny’s limited space, one hand wrapping round the nape of his neck as he pulled the blond man in for a passionate kiss of his own. When he released him, Danny stumbled and swayed. Yet he fell back into step, following McCann back into the house like an obedient dog.

Hidden in the shadows, Steve’s face was livid, his eyes molten.

McCann was a dead man.

 

  ** _~ to be continued ~_**  

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Two hours had passed since Leon had left them.

Two endless hours during which McCann, and Walker, and Leon, and _Danny_ were all inside that house, all out of sight. _Anything_ could have been happening, anything at all, and the waiting was killing Steve almost as much as the certain knowledge of what had  _already_  happened to his partner. Of what he had seen with his own eyes.

The sexual assault… and that  _kiss_. Jesus, Danny hadn’t even flinched from it- he’d  _reached up_  for it. McCann had trained him well.

Steve was trying to keep his mind on the mission, pure and simple. Trying not to worry about what would come  _after._ About Leon’s words of warning. About what Danny might now think of _him_ thanks to the despicable monsters who had played with his partner’s mind. That had come out of nowhere, and Steve didn’t know how to handle that particular revelation, what to think, what to expect. He had to believe in the fundamental strength of their relationship. For all his grumping, Danny trusted him and _knew_ Steve would never hurt him. He would remember that. Steve _had_ to believe he would.

Two _fucking_ hours he’d been torturing himself with all the things he was trying not to think about. He was starting to fret. Starting to think McCann’s plans had changed. But now they had found him, they wouldn’t be leaving without Danny, no way. They would storm the place if they had to, take a chance for all it would put Danny at risk.

 _Better dead than living like that,_ said a harsh voice in his head. He’d had the thought before, but seeing Danny with his own eyes… it really _was_ true. _His_ Danny wouldn’t want to live like this.

Danny’s ordeal was ending today, one way or another.

The sudden sound of voices had him hunkering down in the vegetation. They grew distant, and his attention flicked back to the house.

Fifteen minutes later and the light came on behind the patio doors, cutting through the gloom of the impending dusk.

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. It was on. It was actually happening!

A flurried exchange of hand signals then the extraction team was spreading out, closing in on the four unsuspecting guards in absolute silence. The team were good. The guards never had time to scream before they died, combat knives delivering a final sentence to each that Steve could not give one single shit about. He hesitated as his own tango slid lifelessly to the ground, consciously listening inside himself for some irate comment about ninja assassins, or accusations of having corrupted Chin with his Neanderthal ways. But that inner New Jersey voice was as silent as McCann’s guards had been and, for no logical reason that he could fathom, that chilled Steve to the bone.

Their entry into the house had been carefully choreographed.

Leon had claimed only he and Danny would be left once those four guards were taken out, but Steve still couldn’t bring himself to trust the guy. It could still be a trap. Gutches and Jacks circled the building, one left, one right, in search of the entrance Leon had used. They would hold it, take out anyone unwanted who appeared on the scene.

With a meaningful glance in Steve’s direction, Chin stopped and turned to stand on point at his own assigned position outside those patio doors. Steve went right on through them on his own. And that right there had been a point of contention in their hurried plans.

Chin had wanted to be the one to go get Danny after what Leon had told them about Walker's dirty tricks. It made every bit of sense, yet Steve _couldn't_ step back from this. It was _his_ responsibility. Danny was _his_ partner, _his_ best friend. It just had to be him, it _had_ to be. He couldn't find words adequate enough to justify his need to go in, but he pulled rank anyway. It had to be him and that was it.

Still, Chin would be right there, right outside, should the worst happen and Danny freak out at the very sight and sound of his own partner.

Leon was waiting inside the patio doors, looking nervous as hell. Steve scanned their surroundings in an instant, gun still leveled. Senses on high alert, he took in the living room. The sumptuous furniture, the whites and creams… the CCTV overhead- it was an elaborate echo of everything they had seen in the penthouse and had McCann stamped all over it. Steve could _smell_ him in there- that distinctive aftershave lingered unnervingly like a third presence in the room.

“You’ve got about two hours at the most,” Leon rattled out. “They’re not leaving tonight, they’re just loading their kit on the boat and returning. They’re going at first light.”

Fuck. That wasn’t long. But two hours… they should make it to _their_ boat, and Kono and Lou, in two hours. It _should_ give them enough time for a clean escape if everything went smoothly.

Steve nodded brusquely. “Okay, let’s move. Take me to him.”

But Leon shook his head. “I’ve held up my side of the bargain. I’ve got my own exit strategy in place. I’ve got to go.” His voice was tight, _strangled_ , like he was just barely holding himself together.

It wasn’t good enough. They needed more from him, they needed answers they weren’t getting from the agent’s employers. About INTERPOL themselves, about McCann’s plot. About Danny’s captivity. Leon was a vital witness. Shaking his head insistently, Steve reached out and grasped one of the man’s muscular arms. “No! Look, you come with us. We’ll keep you safe. Take me to him.”

Leon yanked his arm away. “You’ll keep me safe?!” He laughed, and this time he actually sounded overtly terrified. “McGarrett, you’re delusional! McCann’s going to know what I’ve done in about three seconds flat. It’s all being recorded.” He extended a shaking finger towards the light fitting above their head. “INTERPOL won’t be far behind and don’t kid yourselves that they’re any better than the bad guys. No, if I stick around, I’m as good as dead one way or another. I’m disappearing for good this time. I’ve risked fucking _everything_ for this.”

Steve stared, taking in wide eyes, the harsh, fearful breathing. It dawned on him belatedly just what a gargantuan risk Leon had taken simply to give Danny a chance. Yeah, okay, he understood the taller man’s point of view now. He just wanted to survive. He was petrified, he trusted no one, and he wanted to run. Steve should feel grateful, he realized, but there was just nothing there, no room for concern about anyone beyond his own partner.

If the circumstances had been different he might have argued, might have physically forced Leon to stay. But they were there for one thing only. One thing mattered. He nodded in silent, begrudging acceptance of Leon’s determination to leave.

Letting out a shaky breath, the INTERPOL agent pointed that trembling finger towards a shadowy doorway behind Steve.

“Turn right in the hall,” Leon rasped, rushing out the words now. “He’s in the last room. I was going to slip him a sedative, but McCann gave him more pills already so he’s pretty much out of it. He’s so sick now I didn’t want to risk giving him more in case it finished him off.”

With that stark statement, Leon pulled a pill bottle out of the pocket of his pants and thrust it into Steve’s hand. “McCann had ‘em made special. You might want to find out what the hell that stuff is.”

Steve glanced down at the unlabeled plastic bottle, then stared at Leon for a long moment. He nodded once. “Thanks.”

Leon snorted, and he was already walking backwards towards the open patio doors. “Good luck. I hope you can help him. Take care of him, yeah?” He turned to walk away but then hesitated. “And everything he did, he did to protect the people he loved. He was really strong. Brave. You should know that.”

Then he was gone. Steve watched as he disappeared into the gathering dark, Chin nodding a cautious acknowledgement, with a backward glance at the Five-0 leader, as Leon passed by.

It was time.

Steve stuffed the bottle into his own pocket then started to move, eyes everywhere, gun poised. He took one great stride towards the doorway, then froze, heart in his mouth. He down looked at the gun in his hand. Wordless, he backtracked to the patio doors and passed his weapon to a surprised Chin, then his back-up, then his bloodied combat knife. No chances, he couldn’t take one single chance with Danny. Sure, the house hadn’t been cleared and anything could be waiting for him… but he wasn’t making the same mistake he had with Mercier.

_No assumptions._

Chin nodded, understanding belatedly, and patted him on the shoulder as he turned to go get his partner.

His footsteps were silent on the deep pile carpet. He walked steadily, eyes everywhere, hands raised in preparation for a fight. But the house was quiet. It _felt_ like nobody was home. Each open door he glanced through revealed a luxuriously furnished room, but no bad guys lying in wait or otherwise. No indication that Leon had been drawing them into a trap.

A painting on the wall of the hall caught his eye and he spared it a fleeting look, registering it distantly as a Van Gogh, no doubt genuine. Whoever said that crime didn’t pay had never met Spenser McCann, that was for sure.

Steve reached the last door. This was it. _Please_ let this be it. His heart was pounding. There was no lock on the pristine white painted woodwork. He glanced up at the nearest light fitting, seeing the dead black eye of the tiny camera watching silently. Then he went for it. He reached for the brass door handle and turned it.

Uttering a prayer, he pushed the door open.

The room was almost in darkness, the shutters closed on the outside of the windows blocking out the fading light. His eyes adjusted rapidly to the low light, then widened as he saw a figure beneath the covers on the king sized bed. The tremors running through the small body were visible even through the sheets.

Steve opened his mouth, Danny’s name on his lips, but then he remembered Leon’s warning and Walker’s evil acts and bit his tongue to keep himself quiet. Danny needed to _see_ him, not hear him.

On unsteady legs, he walked over to the bed, crouched down and found himself, _finally_ , face to face with his partner.

At his first close look at his best friend, his heart broke in two. Danny, lying curled on his side, was in far worse condition than Steve had realized based on his distant observations. His eyes were closed, his face ghostly pale. His breathing was shallow and fast, and, as Steve reached a hesitant hand towards his face, he could feel the fevered heat radiating from him.

He didn’t react as Steve made contact with the hot skin. He really _was_ sick, and that only served to make the treatment Steve had witnessed all the more repugnant.

Danny’s body told a story of the abuse he had suffered. His face was scratched and bruised, and purple fingermarks striped across his throat. His hands were outstretched in front of him, displaying swollen fingers and damaged wrists. The cuts and bruises were distinctive; he’d clearly been cuffed, too tight and for too long.

Hauling in tremulous breaths, Steve pulled the light, silk sheet off Danny’s bare shoulder, slid it down to assess his partner’s injuries.  He blinked in horrified disbelief when he saw the bruises and scratch marks that littered the ribby, wasted body. The bite marks around his shoulder and neck, some fresh and scabbed, some already fading to pinkish scars.

Steve found himself genuinely struggling to breathe as he saw toothy gouges on Danny’s side, his stomach. Deep, dark, finger-shaped bruises coloring the sensitive inner skin of Danny’s jutting hip bones, disappearing under the sleep pants.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve breathed out.

“ _Steve. You get him? We need to move!_ ” Chin’s voice in his earpiece made Steve jump, and fuck, he needed to get Danny out of there, now. This needed to be  _over_.

He laid a careful hand on Danny’s shoulder, searching out the least damaged area, and squeezed gently, then held his breath.

A sliver of blue cracked open, glassy and unfocused. Not yet daring to speak, Steve moved his face in close, praying, still praying.  _Know me._

A brief flicker of awareness seemed to sharpen the gaze. Steve took that moment, took a chance, because there was simply no more time to play with if they were to make it to safety before McCann returned. “Danny? It's me, it's Steve," he whispered, wincing as he imagined those could have been the very words Walker had used. “I’ve come to take you home.”

As if on cue, Danny screwed his eyes shut with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, a series of bone-deep tremors running repeatedly though his body.

Steve's nostrils flared at the blatant distress his voice had brought to his friend's already ashen face. His eyes filled as the emotions he’d been battling to keep in check simmered to the surface. But Steve had no choice but to persist, and if he didn’t get through to Danny he was going to have to throw him over his shoulder and run. He didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to traumatize him any further.

“Danny, it’s really me babe,” he tried. “I’m not going to hurt you. But we don’t have much time. We have to go. Listen… I know what Walker did to you, and I’m so, so sorry. But it’s really me. C’mon, look at me!”

And terror-filled eyes cracked open again instantly, dully seeking out Steve’s face.

The knee-jerk obedience sent a chill running down Steve’s spine.

Glazed eyes flitted non-committally from Steve’s eyes down his nose to his lips, then shifted, playing over his strong shoulders. Following his partner’s gaze, Steve moved a hand to push the sleeve of his tee to his shoulder, affording Danny a proper view of a tattooed bicep.

Danny’s gaze froze there. He blinked, his ragged breathing accelerating.

Steve lifted a gloved hand hesitantly to Danny’s cheek and touched it, guiding him so he had no choice but to look at Steve’s face again for real.

“Danno,” Steve whispered again, so softly. “It’s _really me_.” 

And Steve thought he saw what he needed to see- _r_ _ecognition_. Then tears were shining in those tired eyes and cracked lips were mouthing his name.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve’s voice broke as he smiled a watery smile through his own gathering tears. Face crumbling, he pulled Danny up into a gentle embrace. He pressed his face to his partner’s hair and inhaled deeply, virtually sobbing when he could still detect the familiar scent of his partner amongst all that was alien and wrong.

Then shaking hands rose up and buried themselves beneath his tac vest, trembling fingers grasping weakly at the material of his t-shirt. He felt, rather than heard, Danny sob too.

And it was _horrible_ , but it felt _so_ good, he felt so damn relieved that Danny actually seemed pleased to see him in spite of everything. “I’ve got you babe, I’ve got you,” he whispered into Danny’s hair. “I’m sorry … so, so sorry that it took so long to find you but I’m here now and we’re getting out of here, right now. I’ve come to take you home. Back to Grace and Charlie and the team. We’ve missed you so much, buddy."

But then everything shifted. Whether it was the realization he was being taken home against McCann’s wishes, or whether Steve had pushed it too far, had said too much or just the wrong thing, the spell broke.

Moaning softly in distress, Danny pushed weakly against him. His head was shaking, violent tremors running through his body. He was _terrified_.

Feeling like he was dying inside, Steve could do nothing but hold him tighter as he struggled. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Shhhh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. No! No, Danny, it’s time to go home. We can sort everything out. I'll keep everyone safe, I promise. Let’s go home, partner.”

Bracing himself for an intensifying reaction to his voice, or more resistance, Steve started in surprise when Danny merely sagged in his arms. He pulled back to look at his partner’s face. He was limp and motionless, jaw hanging lax. Was he breathing? He didn’t look like he was breathing!

Fear took a fierce hold of Steve and he pressed shaking fingers to Danny’s neck… then let out a shuddering breath. At that, Danny let out a soft breath of his own, then another. Another. He was still alive! The pulse was thready and faint, but he was still there. Just. But he was so weak, so sick. He needed medical help.

Wasting no more time for thought, Steve dipped down and cradled Danny’s slight form in his arms, then lifted him with staggering ease, in a way he could never have managed in a million years before all this. 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

The wind whipped around them as the high speed motor boat bounced endlessly through the darkness towards safety. Through it all Steve focused relentlessly on Danny, just Danny.

Everything had gone like clockwork. The RV, the extraction, the escape. They had got away cleanly without a sniff of McCann or his men. They should have been jubilant. But every figure in the speeding boat was silent, every face was deathly somber.

Yes, they had Danny back, but Jesus, _what_ had they got back? What was left of him? Was the Danny they had known even in there anymore? He was so sick, so weak. Would he even survive?

Steve had carried Danny every step of the way to the boat, stubbornly ignoring the protests of his still-healing injuries, speaking to his partner softly for all Danny hadn’t responded. Not once. The blond had regained consciousness periodically, twin slivers of blue appearing as his eyes cracked open by the tiniest amount. But he had seemed, _still_ seemed, a million miles away, disoriented and ill and… just not there.

Steve had reluctantly prepared himself for many scenarios when it came to going in for Danny; a violent, suicidal terror like Professor Mercier’s, a head-fucking fear of Steve that Leon's warning had implied might happen, even the type of fundamental repulsion for physical human contact that might be expected of _any_ victim of this kind of abuse. He’d prepared things in his mind, things to say, reassurances, reminders of what Danny had to go home to, promises of protection for Grace and Charlie. He would have said _anything_ to talk Danny down. Any of the things he should have said but didn't when Danny had phoned him. Whatever it took.

For some reason, the way it had actually happened hadn’t occurred to him. He hadn’t expected to find Danny so sick and doped up that he could simply scoop him into his arms and carry him home.

It was almost too easy. It _was_ too easy. They had no real idea what Danny’s frame of mind was at all. He'd been fucking scared- that much had been obvious. But he hadn’t been in any condition to give a true reaction to his rescue. That revelation was still to come… if he pulled through.

But now, as he trembled feverishly in Steve’s arms, the possibility that he might _not_ pull through seemed all too real.

The pair were hunkered down the prow of the vessel as it jerked and juddered in the rough waters. Steve, sitting on the wooden base with Danny propped between his legs, had both arms wrapped securely around the shivering man’s chest, holding him steady against the erratic movement of the boat, holding him close. He was fighting the natural inclination to pile blankets on him, bundle him up against the biting cold of the ocean wind. Danny’s temperature had crept upwards and a loose survival blanket was all they could afford to use to protect him from the worst of the coarse salt spray. If he heated up any more, they could be in real trouble, fast.

Steve felt the fearful eyes of the rest of the team on them, but blanked them. The horror that had materialized on each of their faces as they had their first close look at their stricken friend was something he couldn’t find the strength to think about. It was all _Danny, Danny, Danny_.

He ran a quick hand through the tangled blond hair, thick with dried sweat, then pressed a quick kiss to the side of his partner’s head. “It’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, I’ve got you now,” he murmured over and over and over again, words on an endless loop.

He kept wondering if he should make himself shut the hell up and stop talking. Danny wasn’t reacting to his voice at all, but what if he was scaring his partner and the man was just too weak to show it? But another part of him, a _selfish_ part of him, said this might be the only chance he got to say the things he wanted to. Danny might die. Or he might get stronger and not want Steve anywhere _near_ him thanks to McCann and Walker.

For now, while Danny appeared to have no real clue what was going on, Steve could hold him and talk to him the way he wanted to, _needed_ to, and he was damn well taking advantage of that.

He couldn’t stop looking at his partner, watching every slight movement the shivering man made. Danny had been in McCann’s toxic clutches for forty-four days and four hours altogether. And, if Leon had told them the truth, for forty-four days and four hours, INTERPOL had known exactly where Danny was. Steve’s head was aching, pounding. He couldn’t think about that yet- about INTERPOL or Leon or LaRouche or McCann. After forty-four days and four hours of hopes being dashed, leads being nothing more than pure fable, and downright lies, he had his partner back. 

But now Leon’s warnings cycled through Steve’s mind. They hadn’t just abused Danny physically… they’d manipulated, brainwashed and cajoled him. Tried to mold him into something different. So what _would_ be left of him? Whatever they had done, however they had done it, the outcome was irrefutable. Danny was done. Danny was broken. Any light in Danny's once-bright eyes had gone out long ago.

How the hell was he supposed to come back from this?

Steve tightened his arms, kissed Danny again, not giving a second thought to what anyone might think. “Shit, Danny. It’s gonna be fine, you’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

The image of his partner and best friend swaying on his knees as he serviced the hated mercenary hammered into the forefront of his mind and Steve bit down on his lip, hard, struggling to maintain that cool, calm façade as powerful emotions roiled beneath his rock-hard exterior. He felt physically sick. He wanted to cry, he really did. But he had to stay strong in front of his comrades. He had to stay strong for Danny.

Steve had never felt so helpless in his life.

“Slow it down! We’re good … we’re good! We’ve gotta be nearly there!” Steve shouted as Danny moaned faintly after a particularly solid thudding slap of boat to hard water.

Almost immediately, the motor ratcheted slightly back, though the prow stayed elevated as they sluiced aggressively forward. Steve craned his neck, looking ahead, and, sure enough, the bobbing lights of their destination were finally in sight. The Coastguard cutter was anchored just ten miles off the coast of Molokai, and should represent safety and an easier ride the rest of the way back to Oahu and the hospital Danny so sorely needed. There would be an ambulance waiting at the dock.

“I got you, buddy … we’re almost there; almost home. Everything’s going to be fine. You can trust me, babe.” Steve said, bending his head close to Danny’s ear and hoping if his friend heard, he actually believed him.  Beneath his hands, he felt the rise and jerk of Danny’s discordant breathing despite the overwhelming hem and haw of the motor boat.

“How’s he doing?”

Steve turned his head to see Commander Wade Gutches, who had had no option but to shout his question over the noise of engine, wind and sea for all he was just inches away. 

Steve glanced up to meet Wade’s eyes and shook his head.

“And how are _you_ doing?” asked Wade.

Steve could only shake his head for a second time, ducking his face down against the blond head beneath his chin as the perceptive question threatened to crumble the dam that was keeping his emotions at bay to dust. 

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters.
> 
> Disclaimer. Medical professionals we are not! We are but folks who research obsessively and have a handy medical contact in the form of the amazing tame Royal Navy medic who likes to be known as 'Scablifter'. He laughs knowingly at FF antics, but provides super helpful information (and writes FF too, though he's super secret about it and we've yet to worm his pen-name out of him). 
> 
> Anyhoo, thank you Scablifter. All mistakes and inaccuracies are our own.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Danny might die. Danny might _die_.

Steve sat slumped over beside the bed in the dimly lit hospital room, his eyes never leaving his motionless partner. He ran a shaking hand across Danny’s hot brow, listening to the shallow, rapid breaths that wracked the slight body. Thin, ill and bruised, Danny looked pale against the white sheets, barring a marked redness on each cheek, just visible beneath the oxygen mask.

At least he was clean, the last traces of McCann wiped gently from his body. His unkempt blond hair felt soft as Steve stroked it, noticing the wave showing now it was longer than Danny ever wore it by choice.

“Don’t you give up, buddy,” Steve muttered. “Don’t you _fucking_ give up! You survived _everything_ that son of a bitch threw at you, Danny, you do _not_ get to give up now.”

Eyes that were simultaneously bright with fever and dulled by drugs and trauma, stared at him blankly, uncomprehending. Then heavy eyelids slid shut once more.

“Not happening, Danno. No,” Steve growled fiercely, shaking his head. “You’re staying right here. Are you listening to me? You keep breathing and you stay with me, that’s _all_ you have to do.”

But Danny was sick, _really_ sick. As they had traveled, his temperature had crept ever higher. They’d reached the hospital to find his blood pressure falling. A systemic infection was rampaging through his body and he was so fucking weak it might just take him from them.

This had eclipsed everything else, every other concern. All thoughts of rape counseling and pink pills and mind games had been shoved into the background, because Spenser McCann might yet turn out to be responsible for Danny’s death. His _murder_.

McCann’s treatment of his prisoner had been nothing short of despicable. Willful neglect; starving him, depriving him of water. Beating and raping him, of course, that was a given, that was _old_ news now. Not caring for his injuries- that was the clincher right then. Bacteria had entered one of Danny’s many wounds- they couldn’t even tell which one, although a deep, angry-looking bite on his shoulder looked a likely culprit.

He had developed sepsis.

The infection was in his blood, spreading through his body. An otherwise healthy person would have a 70 to 85% chance of surviving, so they’d told Steve. But because of what Danny had already been through, they were only giving him a 50-50 chance, that’s what they’d said, unwilling to commit one way or the other.

The doctors at Tripler thought he wouldn’t have lasted long if they hadn’t come for him. If Leon hadn’t called when he did. A few days. A week. Maybe a little longer. How Danny had still been on his feet when they had first seen him on Molokai beggared belief.

“You don’t get to give up, Danny,” Steve repeated, and he was so angry, so _fucking_ angry. He had watched his partner go down on a murdering, evil piece of total shit then kiss him like they were freaking _lovers_ … and that was _not_ going to be the way he got to remember his best friend. No. The partners’ story wasn’t over yet. Steve wouldn’t let things end this way, not a chance.

He clutched Danny’s limp hand tighter, eyes running across the array of equipment and monitors and bags of fluid and tubes and wires in the room, _willing_ the stuff to do its work.

He had lost track of the things they were pumping into Danny to try to save him. Intravenous fluids and electrolytes, a cocktail of powerful broad spectrum antibiotics, something to counter his low blood pressure, he remembered those at least. They were all being pushed into the detective’s beleaguered body through the central venous catheter they’d inserted below his right collar bone.

The specific bacteria that was causing havoc in his system hadn’t been identified as yet. The doctors could tailor the antibiotics better once that had happened, once they’d grown more of the little bastards in some Petrie dish somewhere so they could give them a name. That would help, they thought. Get the infection under control faster, more effectively. So they hoped.

But if the sepsis took hold, Danny’s organs would begin to weaken and fail. He might need more ‘support’ as they tactfully put it. Ventilation. Freaking dialysis.

Steve shook his head again. This was _not_ happening. It was too much. _Without_ the infection they would have already had more than enough to worry about.  

Danny had been _raped_ , for God’s sake. Wasn’t that enough? Raped by _two_ men that they knew of. He was a fucking mess. Steve had stayed with him since the moment he had found him in that bed in Molokai, because no way should Danny be left alone in a room full of strangers. The hospital staff had understood, had agreed, had allowed it. And he'd seen _everything_. Cuts, scratches, bruises, cracked ribs. Danny's ass was torn and swollen, though by some miracle his bowel hadn’t been perforated. No surgical intervention was required- that was about the only high point going. Bites, old and new, the teeth marks clear as day, littered Danny’s body. Seeing the damage under glaring lights with people they'd never met before poking and prodding and describing what they saw like they were looking at an image in a book... it all made Steve’s murderous rage escalate. He couldn’t help but picture what had been happening when those teeth had sunk into his partner’s flesh, when McCann and Walker had... _fuck_. It had to have hurt Danny so much. It must have been hell.

And of course they knew McCann and Walker’s background. Knew the dirty bastards had raped prostitutes, male and female, for kicks. McCann certainly hadn’t used protection when he’d fucked Danny at the penthouse; they knew that from the forensics. It seemed pretty unlikely Walker had either. The chances of him having been infected with any one or more of an array of terrifying STDs were pretty damn high. Samples had been taken- he’d be tested. Then again, and again.

And, because all of that _still_ just wasn’t enough, fucking McCann had to complicate it further. They’d found high level of barbiturates in Danny’s blood, probably from those little pink pills that were now being analyzed by the hospital and the crime lab simultaneously. The drug was classed as a sedative-hypnotic. No one had yet applied too much thought about what McCann had been playing at there. The big concern was that, if Danny had been on a high dose even for a short time, he might suffer symptoms of withdrawal. Nausea, vomiting. Seizures. Hallucinations.

He simply wasn’t strong enough for any of that.

The doctors had talked about putting Danny on diazepam, a safer alternative to the barbiturate which would prevent symptoms of withdrawal but be less likely to inadvertently plunge him into a coma. They could then taper the dose as he got stronger.

Steve frowned, blinking slowly. Were they _going_ to put him on diazepam, or had they done that already? He looked from bag to bag on the IV stands, heart suddenly in his mouth because he couldn’t freaking remember! Jesus, a fundamental part of the challenges Danny was facing and he couldn’t remember. What sort of friend was he?

Yeah, okay, he was exhausted. Barely holding it together. They finally had Danny back, yet this still ranked as one of the worst days in Steve’s life.

The perpetual lump in his throat was choking him. He wanted to rewind the last forty-five days and stop it all from happening. Scrub the memories from his brain with bleach. He’d seen things, done things, he’d never wanted to see, never imagined he would have to do, over the last twenty-four hours.

He’d given consent for his sick friend to undergo a forensic medical examination in amongst all the other shit. It had felt _awful_. Danny _couldn’t_ consent, he was too sick, and as Danny’s next of kin he had to make that call. It had seemed an easy choice at the time. They were in law enforcement for God’s sake. They couldn’t afford to lose a scrap of evidence, couldn’t let McCann and Walker get away with a single thing.

As soon as Danny was settled, as soon as the initial emergency interventions had been completed, they had gone ahead.

Steve had held his hand, stayed right by his head and tried desperately to hold his blank gaze so Danny wouldn’t see what was happening to him. The blond man hadn’t reacted to anything. Had it hurt? It _had_ to have hurt.

As the doctor collected scrapings and swabs and samples, Steve had whispered to Danny, apologized over and over, told him all the reasons it had to be done and it had to be done _now_. He repeated words he’d heard Danny use too many times in the past.

They had all dealt with victims of sexual assault before, but Danny was the best at it by far. He seemed to know just how to speak in that sympathetic but focused manner that was entirely necessary to ensure the victim understood the need to co-operate with the investigation, when all they actually wanted to do was get into the nearest shower and scrub off their own skin. He had everything down to a tee, thanks to experience, the natural empathy he seemed to have for people in need and… just being a fucking good cop. His non-threatening body language, his soft but confident tone as he explained what needed to happen- the medical exam, the photographs, the physical samples, the statement that was by necessity noted in excruciating detail. He was the best Steve had worked with.

But now Danny wasn’t here to do that. Now Danny _was_ the victim. It usually felt like a small victory when a victim consented, like the first brick had been cemented in the wall that would eventually trap the perp in the prison cell where they belonged.

It hadn’t felt like that this time. Now, Steve saw this from a new vantage point. It had felt like they were raping Danny all over again.

The abuse he had suffered was the worst Steve had seen. _Ever_. Worse than that prostitute who had been taken and tortured for days, worse than the abused, trafficked teenagers the team had released from a shipping container on Maui, worse than that guy who’d gone on a blind date only to end up tied to a table for a week at the mercy of a fucking psychopath.

All of those cases had been horrific, all of them had affected the team enough that they had cried quietly apart and drunk too much together before they had managed to move on, dealing with it all in the fucked up, self-preserving way that all cops deal with everything. Laughing about it, because sometimes if you didn’t start to laugh, you would _never_ stop crying.

But this was different, this was worse. How was Danny, how were _any_ of them every going to be able to move on from this? Steve couldn’t even imagine. Everything was different, everything had changed. There would be no dusting themselves off and carrying on merrily towards the next adrenaline-fueled adventure like nothing had ever happened, not this time.

Steve held Danny’s hand tight, his other hand on his partner’s cheek, taking care not to dislodge the oxygen mask. “We had to do it, babe. You know that, right? You’ll understand when you’re better, because you’ll want him behind bars as much as the rest of us. Or dead, even better, right?”

Those distant eyes flickered open again, but they still didn’t seem to see him. He smiled weakly anyway and met the unfocused gaze steadily, knowing the horrors those eyes had seen but trying not to show it.

He opened his mouth to whisper to his friend, to tell him he again was right there with him, that he was safe now. But Danny’s face was getting blurry, Steve’s eyes filling with angry, devastated tears. By the time he blinked them away, his partner’s eyes were closed once more.

Exhausted, Steve lowered his head, rested it against the cold metal bar at the side of the bed. From somewhere, he was going to have to find the right words to tell Rachel and Grace how bad things really were. He was going to have to find the strength to leave Danny’s side to make the people who had done this to him pay.

 _Wait until he_ _’_ _s a little better first,_ said a quiet voice inside him. He snorted at his own stupid thoughts. Danny might _never_ be better. Even if he beat the infection, he might never recover from this. Never.

‘Fixing broken toys’, that was what Danny had called Steve’s need to help people, to gallop in and make things right for them.

It was killing him, _killing him_ , that he couldn’t do that for Danny.

“Steve?”

Steve lifted his head and turned at the quiet utterance to see Lou standing in the doorway, one of the doctors by his side. Dr Pukui? Yeah, that sounded right.

Lou’s face was creased with worry, his eyes already fixed on the figure in the bed, but instead of stepping through the door he gestured with his head for Steve to come out and join him in the hall outside. Steve understood that. Discussing Danny, or McCann, or any of this shit in front of their ailing friend felt fundamentally wrong.

With a last glance at Danny and a tender touch of his hand to his partner’s hot forehead, Steve pushed himself up on tired, stiff legs and shuffled towards Grover and the doc. Lou looked like shit. He was doing everything Steve maybe should have been to ensure Danny was safe now. Liaising with HPD, putting every safeguard going in place.

McCann was gonna know what had happened by now. There was no escaping that. But it would be an insane move for him to try to get to Danny here. A _huge_ risk in fact… but when did McCann ever shy away from huge risks?

It wasn’t going to happen. He _wasn’t_ getting Danny back. He wasn’t ever going to lay a finger on him again.

Chin and Kono were outside, at each end of the corridor. Gutches and Jacks were patrolling the floor. Jerry had been working overtime clearing HPD officers as untainted by McCann, and a hand-picked HPD team was on duty, officers posted at every stairway, every elevator, every entrance. Danny should be safe. His kids should be safe too- Duke was in charge of security at the Edwards’ house and Lou’s family had joined them, just in case McCann picked another perceived ‘soft’ way to get to Five-0. Kono had said Adam was heading that way too. The ‘ohana were pulling together just as they always did.

McCann shouldn’t be able to get to any of them. Yet somehow that was just not reassuring enough.

“Hey,” Steve rasped as he rounded the door frame and sagged back against the wall of the corridor. “What’s going on?”

“Crime lab beat the hospital to IDing those pills. I’ve just been talking to the doc here about the results. Our lab emailed ‘em over to him.”

“Okay? So… barbiturates? Yes?” Steve hazarded, turning to look at Dr Pukui.

The slightly rotund man nodded. “As we had suspected. In fact they identified two substances in the pills; the barbiturate- thiopental. And also oxytocin.”

Steve frowned, because at least one of those sounded familiar. It clicked. “Thiopental? That’s one of the classic Hollywood truth serums. Seriously? But that stuff doesn’t work in reality, does it?”

Pukui puffed out a slow breath. “Not strictly. Not in those terms anyway. It’s a central nervous system depressant. Shuts off large portions of the brain and makes a person more relaxed, less anxious….”

“So…,” Steve cut in, shaking his head with confusion. “McCann was trying to _help_ Danny?”

The doctor pulled a face. “That’s not for me to say, but it seems unlikely. The drug impairs memory too. And it makes a person more compliant. Weakens resolve. Makes it harder for them to think. More open to suggestion.”

“See, _that_ makes sense,” Lou murmured, his deep voice still sounding loud in the narrow corridor. “If McCann wanted to mess with our boy’s head, that makes complete and total sense.”

Steve nodded, throwing a glance back towards Danny. “What about the other thing, what did you call it?”

“Oxytocin,” Pukui responded. “It’s a hormone and it’s actually produced naturally in the body by the pituitary gland during childbirth, and breast feeding, and sex. It promotes bonding, facilitates trust and affection between individuals. It’s known colloquially as the ‘love hormone.’”

Steve stared at him, incredulous. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Pukui shook his head, glancing worriedly from one man to the other.

“And… does it work?” Steve’s voice was barely a croak.

The doctor shrugged helplessly. “There’s been some convincing work in mice but the specific effects in humans are poorly understood. There are a lot of variables to be taken into account. I personally haven’t seen it used in this way before. I haven’t even seen it in this _form_ before. There have been experiments with nasal sprays... but in pill form and combined with the barbiturate? I’ve just never seen that.”

Lou’s face twisted into a furious snarl. “So… McCann’s been experimenting on him, ain’t he? On Danny? Trying to freaking… _brainwash_ him or something? Turn him against us? Make us the bad guys, McCann the good guy? Is that it?! Or what?”

The doctor just shook his head. “I’m sorry, I just can’t say for sure. This simply isn’t my area of expertise.”

Steve pushed a hand through his hair, took a few paces down the hall then turned back. “So _whatever_ affects these things had… they’ll wear off, right? And he’ll be fine? Once he gets better, I mean. Whatever McCann was trying to do to him… whatever he managed to make Danny think… it’s not going to stick. Right?”

One at a time, they all looked towards the still figure in the bed.

Pukui cleared his throat. “It’s just too early to say. And, honestly, it’s pretty far down the list of our concerns right now. Sepsis is the biggest threat. We’re fighting to get on top of that. We’ll need luck on our side to get him to the point where we need to even think about putting a psyche referral in for him.”

Lou sagged back against the wall, cursing softly.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be more positive.” With an apologetic nod to the teammates, Pukui moved into Danny’s room, busying himself with the blond man’s readouts.

Eyes still fixed on Danny, Steve shook his head stubbornly, setting his jaw. “No. No way has it worked.”

“Steve…,” Lou sounded exhausted. Resigned. “No assumptions, right? They’ve tried their hardest to drive a wedge between the two of you for whatever twisted reason, that’s pretty damn plain to me. Walker didn’t need to use that voice synthesizer when he attacked Danny. That was calculated, and you know it. And if they had Danny on shit that makes him open to suggestion… who knows what he believed! And then this freaking _hormone_ thing? Chin told us what Leon said to you guys. Danny thinks McCann is a guy who _loves_ him and _looks after_ him. I gotta be honest with you, cause I ain’t ever lied to you yet… it doesn’t sound good to me. What if it really did work?”

And Steve was shaking his head determinedly, because he wasn’t going to let any of this be true. “No! Lou, you didn’t see him! He was _pleased_ to see me to start with. He _was_. McCann’s just doped him up and weakened him. Even if they’ve messed him up, it’s _temporary_. The drugs will wear off. He’ll beat the infection, he’ll get better and stronger and he’s gonna remember _exactly_ what bastards McCann and Walker _really_ are. He’s gonna remember who he is to me. And I know he won’t be fixed, just like that… but he’ll be thinking straight and that will be half the battle. And we’ll be there for him, we’ll help him get through this.”

Steve refused to dwell on the weak struggle that had occurred after Danny’s too brief moment of recognition and what that might have meant.  No.  He couldn’t - just  _wouldn’t_  - go there.  He turned to Lou, feeling physically sick, and realized just how desperately he needed his friend to blindly agree with him.

Lou nodded slowly, then reached out and squeezed Steve’s shoulder tight. “Yeah. I hope you’re right McGarrett. Jesus, I hope you’re right.”

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

The lights had gone out with Spense’s kisses and love right there and Danny had felt safe. He had floated on the peaceful tide of drugs, dreaming of Steve. _Good_ dreams for once, not the bad ones. Like before Walker had hurt him. Dreams where Steve hadn’t changed, hadn’t begun to hurt him too.

Then _strange_ dreams followed, of boats and billowing air and Navy SEALS and Kono, Lou and Chin, faces lined with worry. A kaleidoscope of overwhelming sensations. And Steve beside him always, holding him close, big hands holding his, or stroking his face, or his hair, slate blue eyes filled with constant grief and guilt.

Danny didn’t understand these dreams at all.

But now everything was wrong. Everything was terrifying. He didn’t understand what was happening. He was awake, he thought. The images that appeared in front of him seemed real anyway… but he couldn’t move. Even if Spense had told him he was _allowed_ to move, he couldn't have moved. His body was too heavy. He felt hot and sick. He saw things as though he was looking through a window, helpless to interact.

A white room. Strangers, faces impassive. He felt them touch him. Felt restraint. Pain. Needles in his arm, his chest. Hands on his bruises, swabs on his wounds. Fingers on his dick. His legs held in the air, fingers on his ass, something unwanted sliding inside. And Steve’s big, sad eyes remained on his through it all, his strong hand still holding Danny’s tight. Steve was right there beside him yet not stopping any of it and it _hurt_. Steve was _letting_ them hurt him.

He felt drugs flowing thick in his system. But they weren’t right, they weren’t what he needed.  They weren’t Spense’s special pink pills.  They weren’t those magical pills which numbed his mind and body just right; that took the edge off a horrific reality.

The images around him faded away again, leaving him a prisoner in the darkness, trapped.  Everything hurt and he needed it to stop, he needed Spense to make it go away. He heard voices around him and they weren’t the right ones.

Steve’s voice again, telling him he was safe, just like he had before Walker’s attack.

Then Danny knew why none of this made sense to him. It wasn’t  _Steve_  at all… Steve had been a dream. All of this — the pain. The hands and the fingers… _all_ of what was happening to him now was Walker’s doing,  _stealing Steve’s voice again._

Terrified, Danny was terrified.

He tried to move his lips, tried to call for Spense. Nothing came out.

But Spense had promised he would always come for him. He _would_ come. He’d end this torture like he’d ended Walker’s torture before. Wouldn’t he? Maybe not, not if Danny had been bad. Had he been bad?

Petrified, he searched for escape, for that elusive happy place in his mind that he’d once found so easily. The place where Steve and Grace and Charlie had once lived inside him to keep him sane. But it was hard to find. What he found was filled with confusing shapes and images, whirling around and making him feel sicker. 

Panic blossomed until the picture clarified and Danny finally saw the face he needed to see the most. Steve and Grace and Charlie were gone, but it didn’t matter because _Spenser McCann_ was there inside him, smiling down at him, holding his hand.

_I love you Danny. You’re safe with me._

He heard Spense’s voice. He heard the words and believed in them. Calm again, hiding deep inside himself, he let the darkness take him.

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

The nightmare got _worse_.

Danny, feverish and gravely ill, drifted in and out of consciousness with no grasp on reality whatsoever. That fact became painfully clear when those bloodshot blue eyes blinked open once more, unfocused gaze turned towards Steve’s hopeful face.

“Hey buddy, you with me?” Steve said softly, so softly, one hand resting on Danny’s arm.

And then Danny was breathing hard, was trying to focus, trying _so_ hard, blatantly fighting with everything he had in an effort to see the face in front of him. Dry lips moved beneath the oxygen mask and Steve ducked his head lower, closer, trying to catch the faint words.

“S-Spense?”

Wide–eyed with concern, Steve shook his head. “No, Danny. It’s me, it’s Steve. You’re safe.”

But there was no relief. No recognition. Fear appeared instantly, _terror,_ and Danny’s next words tore Steve’s heart into a thousand pieces.

“N-no! S-Spense… h-help!”

His voice was rusty and thin, but his meaning was clear. The blond man’s reaction was everything Steve had dreaded, everything he had somehow convinced himself wouldn’t happen, because Danny had  _known_  him on Molokai. 

Not any more.

Steve _knew_ Danny was sick and confused, he _knew_ it was  _Walker_  he was scared of, not him. But Leon’s words had been proven true, because Danny was terrified of his voice and it wasn’t the ‘real’ Steve he was calling for… it was _McCann_. And he was using the mercenary’s _first name_ at that, like they were best freaking buddies or something.

_He thinks McCann is a guy who loves him and looks after him._

How much more fucked up could this possibly get?

Desperate, blinking back tears, Steve stood up on shaking limbs and bent over his partner. He laid one hand on Danny’s arm, the other placed soothingly on his cheek, trying to guide the blond man’s frantic, darting gaze back to his face, to _make_ him take the time to _recognise_ him. To recreate what had happened on Molokai.

“Danny … no, _look_ at me … it’s _Steve_ , buddy. It’s really me! You’re safe. We brought you _home_. You’re in Tripler. You’re safe here, I promise. Walker can’t touch you here. _Neither_ of them can.”

But Danny was simply too sick to understand, to _see_ , and Steve’s fucking voice sent him spiraling into outright panic.

“N-no …  _n-no.._.”  Danny’s voice was weak and his plaintive pleas were heart-wrenching. Trembling from head to foot, he tried in vain to shrink away from Steve … his eyes wide in a face now so ashen that Steve’s eyes welled fuller, one tear spilling over and running down his cheek.

“ _Please_ , buddy,” Steve choked out, his thumb running gentle circles on Danny’s forehead, striving to find that connection; the one they always shared.  He just couldn’t bring himself to believe that Danny didn’t know him… didn’t understand.

“I’m not going to hurt you … I would never - _ever_ \- hurt you. Danny, you know that …. you do. _Please_ , Danny. _Look_ at me.”

But no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t break through his best friend’s terror. Danny was gone, trapped inside whatever nightmare was going on inside his head, and growing more distressed with every passing second, now gasping for breath, eyes rolling back in his head. The more Steve tried to calm him down and explain, the worse the situation was becoming.

One of the machines beside them started chiming a warning, another close on its heels.

“Danno please.  I’m not  _him_ ,” Steve whispered hoarsely just one more time, before he _had_ to stop… he had to give up for his partner’s sake. Danny’s entire body was quivering uncontrollably.

Steve felt himself being pushed to one side and looked round sharply to see one of Danny’s nurses. The man grabbed his arm firmly.

“I’m sorry … you really need to leave right now! Give us space. Wait outside.”

Steve heard the guy clearly, but just couldn’t make his feet move. He found himself forced back from Danny’s side as they bustled around him, trying to calm him down. Steve just stood there, useless. Worse than useless; he had _caused_ this.

Then a thick arm looped around his shoulders, guiding him out and Steve knew it was Lou before the big man spoke, he let himself be manhandled out of there into the hall outside.

“Steve? What the hell’s going on? What happened?”

Steve turned to look at Lou. His team mate had a _sandwich_ in his hand of all things, and Steve found himself staring at it stupidly. Was it for him? Yeah- Lou had brought Steve something to eat.

Steve was never going to be able to eat again, he felt so sick. He looked up into his friend’s concerned face. “Lou… Walker! Danny thought … when he seemed to wake up,” he rasped, distraught and stumbling over his words. “I … I just said a few words, that’s all!  But, he … he doesn’t know where he is … he doesn’t know me, Lou! He thinks _Walker’s_ here … now, he’s … scared… he wants _McCann_.” 

Lou shook his head in shocked disbelief, turning his head to look back into Danny’s hospital room. Steve followed his gaze, and swore as he saw the nurses having no more luck than he had. Danny was frantic, struggling weakly. Petrified. Still calling for McCann.

“Jesus, Lou. He wants that bastard!”  Steve whispered brokenly. “What the fuck have they done to him? Just …  _what_?”

Danny didn’t seem to register the nurses were trying to help him. It was as if they didn’t exist in his universe, the universe where he hadn’t been rescued at all. One of them rushed off in search of a doctor as the other tried to stop Danny yanking at the central line in his blind panic.

The remaining nurse was coping -  _just_  - and only because Danny was so weak. At a loss to do anything useful, Steve scrubbed hard at his face.  Then, he glanced from Danny to Lou. A crazy idea popped into his head, and it crystallised fast.

“Lou,” Steve hissed as he grabbed the bigger man’s arms. “Pretend you’re Leon, please, it might help.”

“What?!”  Lou exclaimed in total confusion. “The INTERPOL guy?!”

Steve nodded frantically. “Danny thinks he’s still on Molokai, Lou. Leon took care of him. You’re the same size, same build, same skin color. Same kind of voice, apart from the accent. He’s so sick he might buy it, it might help him. It might calm him down.  _Please! I can’t help him_ ….”

Lou stared at him, incredulous, then nodded once. “That’s nuts! But yeah, _anything_ that might help him. I’ll do it. So what’s this guy sound like?”

Steve shrugged helplessly. “English… English accent I guess. Non-descript. And… and he was being watched the whole time. He said he had to act like he didn’t give a shit about Danny.”

Huffing out a slow breath, doubt written all over his face, Lou nodded, then stepped into Danny’s room.

Steve watched powerlessly from the doorway, heart in his mouth, praying.

“Hey, knock it off,” Lou pushed out, his teeth visibly clenched as he tried to muster some acting skills, something resembling an English accent, and behave like an undercover INTERPOL agent might have. Someone who’d be watched just as closely, an underling, someone who had their own agenda and desire to stay alive.

Across from him, the nurse who was gently trying to restrain Danny’s hands, stared at him in confusion.  

“Dammit it, you're more trouble than you're worth. Would you shut up!"

They were way out on a limb here, and the nurse, shock on her face, opened her mouth to protest… but it only fucking worked.

“Leon? He’s here... W-Walker! Is he still here?” Danny’s voice was weak, tremulous. “ _Spense_... I need h-him!”  His eyes were bright with fever as he reached out towards Lou Grover.

“ _Jesus_.”  Steve heard Lou whisper in shock, the big man plainly shaken as their friend latched what little bit of awareness he had on to him and ceased the worst of his struggles.  It was all too much to bear and Steve cursed the INTERPOL undercover mole for waiting so long to contact them. He cursed him as he wondered at Leon's ability to remain so damned aloof and so far removed if Danny’d been so downright desperate for so many, many days.  No matter that sole attempt in the penthouse, how could he have just watched for so many days and just permitted so many atrocities to happen to Danny for so long? 

“I need him … He _p-promised_ … he’d be here. _Please_.”   Fraught with fear and yet now slightly less frantic, Danny’s voice was barely audible.

Steve opened his mouth barely able to quell an emotionally charged curse, desperately wanting to go to his friend. Wanting to say something - to do anything at all - as Danny quaked in the hospital bed and asked not for him, but for  _Spenser McCann_. Instead of being able to help, Steve found himself the hated catalyst for this episode and he slammed his mouth closed. But he forced himself to stand his ground and not flee. He forced himself to stay and not to speak, only his face communicating the pain he was in as Lou intervened.

And Lou, God bless him... he was fantastic. Steve watched as he played the role to a brilliant perfection, though the situation was obviously killing him inside just as much as it was Steve.  

“McCann’s here. But, he’s...  _busy_. Yeah. So, he’s nearby. Walker… he’s gone. He’s not here and he won’t be back.  You’re safe. He’s gone,” Lou promised blandly.   

Lou glanced up quickly to catch Steve’s eye, his sorrow clearly communicated as he reached for Danny’s hand, grasping it and squeezing gently. “You can rest now… calm down and rest.  McCann wants you to rest. Walker’s not coming back.  He’s gone … I’m supposed to keep an eye on you and make sure you rest now. That’s what McCann wants so you better do what you’re told.”

Steve watched from the doorway as Danny’s fevered eyes searched their friend’s face. There was a fear and desperation in Danny which Steve had never born witness to in his life. He felt sick to his stomach, light-headed and utterly devastated as Danny clung to Lou’s hand before giving a shaky nod.

Then, just like that, Danny switched off. He sunk back into the bed, and though his breathing didn’t ease right away, his demeanor completely changed. It was more than that the episode had taken a great deal out of his ravaged body; he simply switched himself  _off,_ like he was _obeying_ the instruction he’d been given.  The struggle ceased; as did the timorous pleas for help and Danny obediently closed his eyes.

Lou had done it. Lou had managed what Steve couldn’t.

Steve’s presence right then was doing more harm than good. He found himself taking a step away, hands shaking as much as his body. As he backed through the door, he looked down at them helplessly.

Then Lou was beside him again, ushering him towards a chair in the hall.

“Here. Sit. Breathe.”

Lou sounded almost as shaken as Steve felt. Steve obeyed blindly, legs virtually giving way from beneath him as he sank into the hard plastic seat.

“You can’t read anything into this, you know that right?” Lou hissed, bending down low to look him in the eye. “You said it yourself. He’s sick, he’s still got those drugs in his system. He has no idea where he is and who he’s with. You can’t take this to heart. _We_ can’t. You hearing me?”

And Steve was nodding hard along with Lou’s words, because he knew all that, but _still_. “I know. I know, I know. I just… I thought if we got him back…. Shit Lou, I know this isn’t him, I know he doesn’t mean it, but _Jesus_. This is so fucked up!”

Lou gripped his shoulder, looking back towards the open door to see a doctor scurrying into the room. “I know, and I’m sorry. Listen, I’ll stay with him for now, as long as it takes. You… take a break okay? You’ve been here for nearly two days. Go take a shower. Get some sleep in an actual bed. Go….”

“Go see his kids? What about them? What am I supposed to tell his kids, Lou?”

Lou shook his head, shrugged, chewing on his bottom lip. “They’ve been told he’s sick. He can’t have visitors until he’s much stronger. We have to go with that for now. They can’t see him like this. It’s hard enough for us to see him like this. But Steve… they don’t need to see you like this either. They’re safe, they’re fine. They’re with people we trust. Renee is with ‘em too, and my kids. You… go _sleep_.”

Steve shut his eyes, dropped his head into his hands. He rested there a few seconds, feeling Lou’s hand rubbing on his shoulder, the big guy trying in vain to offer him comfort. But Lou was right in one sense at least. He _should_ go. They had enough going on with Danny. They didn’t need Steve to worry about as well. And Danny sure as hell didn’t need him there right then.

He dropped his hands and looked up at his friend. “You’ll stay with him?

Lou nodded determinedly. “I’ll stay with him. You have my word. I’ll call you if there’s any change. Now go.”

Steve stood obediently and turned, forcing his feet to move away, fighting the gravitational pull that was doing its level best to haul him back to Danny’s side. He ignored the sweat that trickled annoyingly down his back, shoved his hands deeply into his pockets to hide their tremble. He didn’t want to do this. He hadn’t left Danny since the moment they had been reunited. At the start, they’d all agreed to taking shifts on a rotation so Danny was never alone after everything he’d been through, and the medical team were right on board with that. The concept was fair, but, as it turned out, only a concept because in reality Steve had never left. His team had wound up rotating around him, trying to take care of him.

The plan he’d held inside his head was that he’d not leave Danny’s side at least until there was a solid lead on McCann. Something tangible and diligently vetted which he and his team could work with, regardless of INTERPOL’s veil of silence. 

And that train of thought re-awakened another pressing issue in Steve’s head. INTERPOL…. They had known where Danny was. _The whole time._

Teeth clenched tightly, thoughts spinning, Steve fought to get his jangled nerves back in line as he walked, absently surveying each person he saw.  The corridor, the whole floor, was packed with doctors and nurses, but also military police, a few key HPD.

He reached the stairs and took them, unable to bear the idea of standing still in an elevator. Jacks and Gutches were there, ascending as he descended. They gave him a solid nod as he passed. No one who shouldn’t be there would get past them.  TAMC was a fortress.

He passed more HPD, more military police in reception, saw Chin and Kono at the entrance, hands by the triggers of their weapons. They spotted him, made a move to walk over but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t speak to them, talk about what had just happened. He held up a hand, then turned abruptly, walking away from them. He glanced back, saw them watching him with concern. He kept right on walking.

Danny was home. Danny was safe. Not a single unauthorized person would be permitted to even glance his way. Steve couldn’t help here. Sleep? No, no way could he sleep. So what could he do?

INTERPOL… Fucking Agent LaRouche. Lying, deceitful. _Responsible_.

And then he knew _exactly_ what he needed to do. Rage setting firmly into place, Steve marched over to the nearest HPD vehicle and commandeered it, screeching from the parking lot leaving a trail of burning rubber behind him.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

“You can’t come in. You can’t see her. She’s busy.”

“THE HELL I CAN’T!!” Steve yelled.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Steve laughed in the woman’s face. He’d heard that before and if he tried, he could probably count the minutes since he’d last heard those exact words on one hand.  A sneer followed his sharp laugh. Maybe he was being unfair, but the smug, immaculately dressed agent sitting behind the reception desk in the immaculate offices that had become INTERPOL’s temporary base simply had no idea what she was dealing with.

A door opened behind her, a ten foot wide, muscle-bound man clad in an equally expensive black suit stepping through. “Commander. Agent LaRouche isn’t here. Do as my colleague asked. Leave. Now.”

Steve stared at him, breathing hard, the rage that had carried him here threatening to tear down his limited self-control. His hand shifted to his hip, and if he’d had his gun he might just have drawn it. He cursed inwardly. He hadn’t had his weapon on him since he’d handed it to Chin on Molokai. Didn’t dare have a firearm near Danny after what had happened to Mercier. Not yet. Just in case.

The INTERPOL gorilla clocked his intent anyway, stepped forwards from behind the desk and grabbed Steve’s arm, no doubt intending to remove him forcibly from the premises.

It was a big mistake. Steve struck like a viper, grasping the meaty wrist and twisting his whole body, flipping the agent to the ground. Kneeling on the winded man’s neck, he reached into his beautifully tailored jacket and drew the guy’s gun from his shoulder holster. He pressed the muzzle to the side of the agent’s head.

Steve bared his teeth before he spoke again. “I said I need to see Agent LaRouche. _Now_!”

“Put the gun down, Commander.”

Steve turned sharply at the familiar voice.

 _It was her_. Agent LaRouche. As immaculately dressed as her colleagues, make-up perfect. Cool and calm. Un-phased, unaffected. Undamaged. She had her own weapon in her hand, and it was leveled at him, as was that of the female agent who had been behind the desk.

Steve didn’t care.

INTERPOL had known McCann was coming well enough in advance. LaRouche had _known_ and she’d _allowed_ this to happen to Danny.  She had known where Danny was, she had known they were coming for him to begin with. The abuse he had suffered… she had allowed it … permitted it … effectively _condoned_ it.

Now Steve was out for blood.

Fury tunneling his vision down to her detested face, he pushed himself to his feet, leaving the male agent gasping for breath on the ground. He marched over to her, stopping two feet in front of her.

“You… _bitch_!” he snarled, _irate_. “You _knew_!”

She held her ground, her gun now inches from Steve’s gut, muzzle hovering over the pink scars left behind by McCann’s last attack. She widened her stance, her eyes sharp and challenging. “How is Detective Williams?” she said coldly.

“How? How … _is_ …,” Steve asked in disbelief before laughing rudely in her face, jabbing a finger in the air an inch from her nose.  “Don’t you _dare_ act like you give a shit! You _knew_ McCann was coming for him! You _knew_ where Danny was the whole time! You _knew_! The whole time, the whole _fucking_ time.”

Steve waved his procured gun in the air. “You tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet in you right _now_ for what they did to him!”

LaRouche flared her nostrils. “Other than the fact my colleagues and I would kill you? How about this… don’t you think I _wanted_ to get him out of there?” she spat.  “I’m not _inhuman_. But he is _one man_. One man’s life balanced with hundreds, maybe _thousands_ of other lives. And now… we’ve lost our contact! You have single handedly cut off our intel, our best chance of stopping McCann! I should be putting a bullet in _you_!”

“Your intel? I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR INTEL. THEY WERE _RAPING MY PARTNER_!” Steve’s voice cracked as he yelled and he paused, put his hands on his head, gun and all.

LaRouche took the opportunity to bite back, voice low and carefully controlled. “You listen to me, _Commander_. You’ve lost all perspective. There’s a _bomb_ out there and…”

“BULLSHIT!” Steve shouted into her face. “You said it was safe! Mercier said it was incomplete and _you_ said now he couldn’t finish the work the bomb wasn’t a danger!”

LaRouche nodded unapologetically, her gun hand still rock steady. “Yes, I did tell you that. But that was because my priority was getting _you_ and _your team_ as far away from my enquiry as possible so you couldn’t do any _more_ damage!”

Steve shook his head in disbelief, his face screwing up. “Why… why would you _do_ that?!” he exclaimed. “We’re meant to be on the same side! Aren’t we?!”

And LaRouche actually laughed. “We are, you’re right about that. But _we_ are working for the greater good here. You and your team… you’ve been too blinkered by your own emotions to see that right from the start! We had a man in close to McCann, you _knew_ that. We _couldn’t_ prevent what happened to Detective Williams, or try to rescue him, without compromising that man’s position! And we needed him right where he was so we could try to stop that maniac from blowing up half _your_ island! We had no idea how close to ready the device already was before we got wind of it!”

Steve stared at her, incredulous. “But once Professor Mercier was dead, once you _knew_ it couldn’t be detonated… you could have told us where Danny was then, couldn’t you?!”

She shook her head and held up a hand to cut him off.

“Commander… I told you that to try to get you to take a step back. You‘d done _enough_ damage to our investigation already.”

Steve frowned, glaring at her furiously. “What? You told us _what_? I don’t get it. What are you saying?”

LaRouche finally lowered her gun, holding his gaze as she holstered the weapon. “Commander. The device is _far_ from safe. Our intelligence suggests it was all but finished when Mercier died. It _had_ been constructed. All McCann needs to complete it are the final codes that will activate it. _That’s_ what Mercier still had to furnish them with. And yes, with Mercier gone, those codes are lost… but there’s more than one way for McCann to get around that problem. If he has the right hacker on his payroll, he can still arm the device. _Remotely_. He doesn’t even need to be there! He can detonate it at any time… and we have no idea where it is.”

Steve stood, gaping, trying to take in what she was saying with a mind that was still pumping with adrenaline and anger.

“Now I get that you’re angry about your friend,” LaRouche said, calm and firm. “But before you lecture me on what I should and shouldn’t have done, you need to get some perspective back. You and your team have made _every step_ of this a hundred times harder than it needed to be because of your obsession with finding Detective Williams. You carried out an unauthorized raid. _You_ were responsible for Professor Mercier’s death, and are still under investigation for that very matter, as I understand it _. You_ forced McCann to retreat. _You_ made him angry. _You_ caused him to escalate his poor treatment of your partner. That’s on _you_ , not me.”

Steve shook his head furiously in denial, jaw muscles working overtime, because those words fucking _hurt_. And yeah, maybe because there was some truth in there. _A lot_ of truth.

“So yes, I kept you at arm’s length. And now, I’m proved right yet again! You're a liability! You’ve messed up yet again!” LaRouche hissed. “Ever since your latest little rescue mission, our undercover man has gone radio silent. What you’re saying to me now tells me you spoke to him… so I can only assume it was _you_ who fucked that up for us too, somehow. Thanks to you we’re now working blind! We don’t know where McCann is, and we’ve lost our best chance of finding the device before he manages to activate it! Now I don’t know where you got your intel about Molokai from… _yet_. But you should have brought it to _me_ immediately. You should _not_ have moved in.”

“You’re crazy!” Steve spat, totally on the defensive now. “Take it to _you_?! You would have done nothing if we _had_ come to you! You’ve all but admitted that already! Spenser McCann’s been running rings around you for months and you seriously expect us to give up anything we have to you?! Danny’s my _partner_. We _couldn’t_ wait. We couldn’t leave him there a moment longer than we had to!”

LaRouche nodded slowly, her expression filled with contempt. “You just keep telling yourself that, Lieutenant Commander McGarrett. You had no right; no jurisdiction. Your own Governor - the man you supposedly report to - did not approve your illicit mission!  You have much to explain on a great many levels, don’t you?”

She shook her head at him in undisguised disgust. “ _We’ve_ been attempting to corral a serious global threat … a brilliant psychopath within reach of a dirty bomb! So just you keep telling yourself that saving _one_ man, a man who’s mentally broken by all accounts, was worth it. You better pray we find the device before McCann’s people activate it or it won’t be one man’s life in the balance. It could be half the population of the damned island, your partner included. I hope you’re satisfied. Now give my man back his gun and leave! Rest assured you’ll be hearing from me… as will your Governor.”

With that she turned and marched away, heels click-clacking on the hard floor as Steve stared after her open-mouthed.

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters
> 
> From Swifters- sooorrrrryyyyyyy! Delay totally my fault. Worked the last 14 days in a row, putting in mammoth hours. Poor IC has had to put up with a lot, sitting waiting on me to do the stuff I do with nothing for HER to do other than write EPIC STORIES on fanfiction.net. *happy sigh* 
> 
> Annnyhoooo, normal service resumes. As 'normal' as it ever was anyway. Thank you for your patience and many apologies again!

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Steve leaned against the hard stone wall outside the INTERPOL offices, trying to breathe, trying not to throw up, eyes squeezed shut against the swirling vortex of emotions inside.

So much of what LaRouche had said to him rung sickeningly true. McCann _had_ escalated the level of abuse he was submitting Danny to because of what Steve had done. Mercier _was_ dead because of him. Despite having the best of intentions at every step, he’d somehow managed to fuck up left, right and center.

If it wasn’t for the decisions he had made, maybe INTERPOL would have gotten the intel they needed from Leon by now. Maybe the weapon would have been found and secured. Maybe Danny would be safe without ever having been subjected to Walker and the fucking voice synthesizer. Without having gotten as sick as he was. Maybe he would have been okay. Shook up and hurt, traumatized but closer to… fixable.

Had Steve done this to Danny? He’d certainly antagonized McCann every step of the way. By acting on Danny’s intel and inadvertently throwing a spanner in the works of the mercenary’s plans, then exposing McCann’s mole in HPD, Steve had undoubtedly provoked the man.

_Nice work. But I win the only part of the game that matters to the two of us, don’t I?_

Those perfectly penned words McCann had left for him to find at the Meridian rolled relentlessly through his mind again. To have left a _personal message_ for him, the bastard must have been in no doubt at all as to who should be held accountable for the things that had gone wrong. And what he and Walker had then done to Danny on Molokai? How could Steve see that as anything but revenge?

“Fuck!” He choked, pushing his head back _hard_ into the rough stone, trying to punish himself as much as anything. “Fuck. Danny….”

He was at the end of his rope.

At that moment, a bird flew into the air on the other side of the parking lot, chirping in alarm.

Steve opened his eyes on instinct, turned his head abruptly towards the noise. The hair prickled on the back of his neck. Something was wrong. He _knew_ that feeling.

 _Someone was watching him_.

He stood straight, eyes scanning his surroundings, hands flexing into fists. There appeared to be no one around. Concrete and glass, cars in a parking lot. No sign of anything untoward. 

 _Could it be McCann_?!

Fire coursed through his blood at the very notion, at the mere idea that he might, albeit unarmed and exhausted, have an opportunity to strike back at that hated figure. Instead of looking for cover, he found himself marching to the sun-baked center of the parking lot. He stood, turning a slow circle.

“MCCANN?!” He yelled. “SHOW YOURSELF!”

He held his breath, listening intently. Nothing. A sudden gust of wind sent leaves swirling up into the air, spiraling around him.

“MCCANN! COME ON YOU BASTARD! COME AND GET ME!”

Nothing.

He watched, eyes flicking from office window to office window, from vehicle to vehicle, without discovering the reason for his instinctive unease. Somewhere, Spenser McCann was laughing at him, laughing at the ease with which he’d marched into their lives and torn them apart for his own gratification.

Slowly now, one step at a time, Steve made his way back towards the police cruiser he’d taken possession of… and froze.

There was a figure hiding in the shadows of the back seat.

Steve’s heart leapt into his mouth, but his observational skills caught up with him fast. The shape wasn’t broad and muscular like McCann or Walker. It was small and slight. Pushing itself into the furthest corner of the seat as though it wanted to disappear. As though it was _scared_.

Frowning, Steve walked over. He hesitated, looking at the rear door handle for a second. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the stowaway push back even further into that corner. They didn’t want to be seen. Were they really that scared? Or did they mean him harm, plan to take him unawares.

Playing for time as he considered his options and primed himself for a possible attack, he fished about in his pockets for the keys of the car. Had he left it unlocked? There was no obvious sign of forced entry. Then again, the security of some random police cruiser was hardly high on his list of priorities right then, so it was more than possible.

Fingering the keys, he hesitated for another fraction of a second before decided to take a risk. He slid right on into the driver’s seat like nothing was amiss. He started up the engine, then reached up to adjust his mirror, slowly and deliberately.

He met pale blue eyes, tear-filled and terrified. And he knew them right away, he’d seen them less than three weeks earlier on the face of yet another of McCann and Walker’s victims.

“Isabelle?” He gasped, genuinely shocked. “Isabelle Mercier?”

The woman’s face crumpled for a moment, but then she seemed to pull herself together. She leaned forwards into the light, a ripple of determination crossing her features.

“I saw you,” she said. “I remember you. Agent LaRouche told me your name. You are McGarrett. You were _there_.” Her French accent was beautiful- rich and melodic- but it did nothing to conceal the blatant accusation in her voice. And Jesus, no wonder! He was responsible for her father’s death! She would know the details of what had happened that night and his role in that tragedy; they would have told her. He was certain of it.

At the sight of her shadowed eyes, her haunted, grief-stricken face, his guilt and regret soared to new heights. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He shook his head helplessly when the mirror’s reflection seemed to accuse him more, because words were so entirely inadequate. Resolute to accept whatever blame she’d come to charge him with, he turned in his seat to meet her face-to-face.

“I really am so sorry,” Steve whispered earnestly, and he _was_ , for so much. For what had happened to her father.  For not realizing how far the desperate man would go to obey McCann. For interfering. Yet at the same time for not being smarter, not rescuing them _sooner_.

She nodded in base acknowledgement of the sentiment, her lips pursed tight. Her eyes were giving nothing away,

Uncharacteristically unsure of himself, Steve waited her out, waited for her to speak and still nothing happened. He watched her wage a silent battle with her emotions, every moment of which was etched across her face. Suddenly it seemed too intrusive, too personal, to simply observe a woman who had suffered so much in this way. He looked down instead, mindlessly cataloging her clothing.

Cream blouse, blue suit, smart and fitted… but hanging on her thin frame like an over-sized sack. He blinked as he saw her hands. Clasped together in her lap, they were shaking violently. Yellowing bruises on her wrists peeked out from beneath the carefully tailored cuffs.

One hand moved abruptly, reaching up to play nervously with the silver chain that he recognized as the one thing the poor woman had been wearing when they had rescued her. It had a tear-drop pendant, he realized, small and neat and intricately carved with the tiniest details. Inevitably his gaze shifted to the fading bruises around her throat and he froze there, unable to look away.

Those bruises almost precisely matched some of Danny’s many injuries.

She must have seen him looking because she suddenly spoke and Steve cringed at what came out. 

“Walker,” Isabelle blurted. “He liked to….”  She stopped, lips trembling. Her determination not to break, not to cry, was palpable.

“Are you all right?” Steve asked carefully as he watched her silent struggle continue.

She visibly steeled herself and gave a curt nod, her eyes hardening.

A gut-wrenching stab of admiration hit Steve out of nowhere, because here was another human being who’d been raped and tortured by Walker and McCann, like Danny had been. And here she was, hiding on her own in the back seat of some guy’s car just so she could… what? Get answers of her own? She was brave, that was for sure. Steve suddenly felt fiercely protective of the woman, for all she was essentially a stranger.

“I saw you from the window.” She gestured hurriedly towards the upper floors of the INTERPOL building. “I remembered you. I wanted to thank you. And tell you… what happened to my father was _not_ your fault.”

Steve shook his head in denial because none of that made immediate sense.  _Thanks_? No, surely not and LaRouche had only just reminded him of each of his blatant shortcomings. He owed this woman an impossibly huge apology- he certainly didn’t deserve her _thanks_!.  “I’m… I had _no idea_ he would… I should have…,” he stammered.

But Isabelle sharply interrupted him, her voice unexpectedly strident. “ _Non_! You must not blame yourself. How could you know the ways that monster had manipulated my father’s mind? Thanks to your bravery, his suffering is over. And so is mine. Merci bien, Monsieur McGarrett.”

Steve could have cried at her adamant stance. Her lips were still quivering, yet her eyes were alight with determination and she was staring at him. Almost daring him to argue. He truly had no idea what to say. He’d expected accusations and anger, to match his own self-loathing, not instant forgiveness and _gratitude_ of all things.

Those blue eyes filled with compassion, their owner seeming to read him well. “You people say ‘hindsight is a wonderful thing’? It is an ironic statement, you know that, yes? You have enough to cope with without dwelling on the past… they told me you found your partner, oui?”

Steve nodded tightly. “Yeah. We got him back too.”

“I am glad. But he was McCann’s. They spoke of him- the things they did- and made me worry for him so. Is he… well?”

Steve shook his head again. “He’s… he’s confused. He got sick. He’s ill.”

The instantaneous flare of panic which filled her face took him by surprise.

“Sick?!” she gasped, horrified. “But my tests, they were _negative_. He is ill? Then I might be….”

It took a moment, but then Steve realized with a start the conclusion she had jumped to. “Oh no, no, not STDs!” he reassured her hurriedly. Danny’s initial tests have been negative too. No, not that. He has _sepsis_. He got an infection. He’s real sick.”

The selfish but understandable relief that crossed her features was short-lived, and faded once more into the more familiar haunted sadness. “I am sorry. I would love to meet him when he is better. I feel like… I feel like I _should_ meet him. We have… much in common. Unfortunately.”

Fuck! They really did. What a horrific thing to share. Steve’s throat dried up. Isabelle Mercier was astounding him at every turn and he’d no idea what to say at the incredible display of such true empathy.

She stared into his eyes, her gaze penetrating. “You are finding this very hard. You are close to your partner, yes?”

Steve nodded, a traitorous lump swelling in his throat. “He’s my best friend,” he croaked simply.

Isabelle snorted. “My father was _my_ best friend. I wish he was here to help me. I wish I had been there for him. Maybe if I had….”

She broke off, chewing on her lip, then pinned Steve with a sharp stare. “You are lucky, because my best friend is dead, but yours is alive. But I am not a fool, Commander. I know McCann will have done things to your partner’s mind too, that is the nature of the beast that he is.  I will not insult your intelligence by telling you that he will be okay, because that would be a lie. He will _never_ be okay just like _I_ will never be okay… but I am adapting. He will not beat me! I am learning to manage one step at a time. You must have hope that your friend will learn to manage too. You must believe in him. Give him time and love and all the things I never had a chance to give my father. Promise me.”

Steve stared at her, a tear finally escaping and running down his cheek.  For the longest time, he could barely find anything to say at all, stunned at this woman’s bleak honesty, her intuition, kindness and… unequivocal sympathy for him. “Of- of course I will. I promise!” he rasped.

She exhaled long and slow, almost as though relieved. “Good. That is good.” Then she reached out, brushed his shoulder with a feather light touch, then sat back again. “I should go. My bodyguard will be searching for me.”

Shaking himself, Steve glanced towards the INTERPOL building at that bit of insight. He’d almost forgotten where they were. Where she should be. “You’re not allowed out by yourself? Oh, in case McCann comes. Of course.”

“Maybe,” Isabelle replied with a non-committal shrug. “I do not wish to sound ungrateful. INTERPOL has arranged the best of care for me and their people have been nothing but generous. But… sometimes I feel they will never tire of asking me questions I do _not_ know the answers to. About weapons, about codes. But I do not know the code, no matter how many times she asks! Sometimes I think I am still a prisoner.” Then she giggled, an unexpected glimpse of what she must have been like before pushing through the pain and damage. Vivacious, intelligent, beautiful. And Steve found himself fighting a small smile in response.

She leaned forwards in conspiratorial fashion, her lips tilting slightly upwards at her impending confession. “I climbed down a drainpipe from a second floor bathroom window to meet you.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot skywards. “Seriously?!”

Isabelle grinned at him mischievously, but then the smile inevitably faded, a dark sadness returning to those thin features. She blew out a determined breath. “Here,” she said. She rooted in a pocket and pulled out a card. “They have given me a cellphone. You call me when he is well enough to see me.”

He nodded, taking the proffered item. “Thanks, Dr Mercier. No matter the circumstances, it was good to see you. I mean that. If there’s anything I can do….”

She nodded in understanding. “Just… make sure those bastards pay,” she said, and for a moment her demeanor changed altogether, a white hot rage materializing in her out of nowhere. She let out a slow breath, then spoke more calmly. “Agent LaRouche assures me they will, yet they are still out there. They still have that weapon.”

“Oh they’re gonna pay. Believe me, they’re gonna pay, I promise you that,” Steve growled in response, voice ominously low. But the reminders of his own catalog of failings were still fresh in his mind and he instantly wondered if his pledge sounded as empty to her as it did to him.

Apparently not. She smiled grimly, clearly accepting his word. “Then I will thank you all over again. Au revoir, Monsieur McGarrett,” Isabelle said, and she was already climbing from the car.

At that, a large, flustered INTERPOL agent came running around the corner of the building. He was red-faced and undeniably upset, his sights solely on the young woman. For a moment, Steve felt that flare of protectiveness kick in and he frowned, but when Isabelle looked back towards the patrol car for a moment, she merely rolled her eyes in a comical fashion.

He couldn’t help but smile at that blatant show of character. He watched her leave, glaring back in kind at the agent, but his mind was working at a hundred miles an hour. _Isabelle Mercier_.  Steve found his spirits had actually been lifted by the gutsy French scientist. She’d forgiven him, no question. _Thanked_ him. Still had faith in him! More importantly, she’d been through an ordeal akin to Danny’s, if not of the same magnitude. She’d been a non-verbal wreck when they’d found her, she’d lost her father in the most tragic of circumstances. And she seemed… sad, skittish, exhausted, afraid. _Not_ okay. But... functional. Alive. _Really_ alive, like she had hope- a tangible belief- things would get better in spite of everything.

The resilience of the human body and mind could be incredible. Isabelle proved that in spades. Steve smiled again. She’d climbed down a  _drainpipe_  to see him? Seriously? Her words came back to him.

_I will not insult your intelligence by telling you that he will be okay, because that would be a lie. He will never be okay just like I will never be okay… but I am adapting. He will not beat me! I am learning to manage one step at a time. You must have hope that your friend will learn to manage too. You must believe in him._

Yeah. She was so right in every way. And he _did_ have hope for Danny, even more so after speaking to Isabelle. Danny was _such_ a strong person, there was _real_ hope.

Steve revved the idling engine a touch, then pulled out of his parking space. He gritted his teeth determinedly. With hindsight, he could see his decisions had adversely affected the case. He could accept that. But Isabelle Mercier’s timely display of gratitude had reminded him of _why_ he had made those decisions… and the fact that he wouldn’t change a single action given the opportunity to do things over. He had done the things he had done for the best of reasons. Beating himself up with hindsight wouldn’t help anyone.

Steve would do as Lou had told him. Get his head down for a handful of hours, make himself eat. Come back refreshed and ready to do whatever it took to get Danny better. Support him any way he could. He’d sit with him in silence forever if it meant he could stay by his side without upsetting him. _Anything_ for his best friend.

And what about McCann, and Walker, and the weapon?! The fact that the device was still a threat, that McCann could potentially detonate it remotely, had been a terrifying revelation. Agent LaRouche hadn’t asked for Five-0’s help in finding it, unsurprisingly. But their home was under threat, all the people they loved! And now he had promises to keep. They _would_ pay.

A car horn sounded behind him, making him jump. And yeah, he’d zoned out, blocking the parking lot exit.

A couple of hours sleep, then he’d do his damndest to try and save the world.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Awareness crept up on him slowly, coming and going in waves of increasing intensity.

His senses were dominated by weakness and sickness, and a confusion of strange sounds, smells and voices.  The bed he was lying in felt… different. The sheets were roughened and harsh against his skin. They weren’t the soft, fine linens which usually fell across his shoulder. The pillows were thin, and the head to this bed was slightly elevated. 

Danny knew something was _terribly_ wrong. Practically of their own volition, his eyes opened. He blinked slowly and blearily.

Gone was the master bedroom, its fine accoutrements and green view of the outside. What had become so familiar in his limited world was suddenly gone. A hospital room, _clearly_ a hospital room… but he couldn’t grasp its significance. It couldn’t be real. He had to be dreaming.

Danny blinked again, bewildered and tense. Across from his bed, there was one plain window. The blinds were nearly fully drawn to block the worst of the sun, but still, strong light flickered through.

He glanced upwards in search of a light fitting. It was wrong. Different. A fluorescent tube. No black eye watching him. His stomach dropped.

_Where was Spense?_

“Danny? Hey, man! How’re you doing?” 

Danny startled at the sound of a man’s voice despite it being low. It was a voice he knew and it was wrong too. For all that the words had been whispered, Danny felt a flare of panic tighten his chest. 

“Danny? You with me this time?” There was a pause, then “Hey, look at me, Danny. Can you look at me?” 

Danny looked around abruptly, a knee jerk response to the instruction, his heart in his mouth. And then his brain refused point blank to kick in and let him understand because before him was a face he’d never expected to see again. _Lou Grover_. A whisper in his mind told him he should be seeing _Leon_ … but no matter how long he looked, those features didn’t change. It _wasn’t_ his overtly stoic watch-dog. It _was Lou_.

It was simply too much to process. His mouth fell open, Spense’s name automatically on the tip of his tongue. But, wrapped in a rapidly solidifying fear, he couldn’t say the word. The name died on his lips and he could only continue to stare at his friend in fear-filled silence.

This didn’t make sense. When… _how_ had it happened? Why hadn’t he know? Why had they brought him here? This wasn’t right, this wasn’t _safe_. No one would be _safe_.

_He wasn’t meant to be here!_

Danny stared at Lou mutely, his breathing ragged and loud in his own ears.

Lou’s dark eyes were wide with concern. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “Danny … you’re okay. Hold on, all right? I’ll get your doctor.”

He raised his hand as if to pat Danny’s arm, certainly a gesture which would have been meant to be reassuring, but then the big man seemingly changed his mind, aborting the movement at the last second. There was no denying that Lou was worried, his eyes half hopeful and yet his demeanor as unsettled as Danny’s own the longer the lack of response from the blond man.

Eyes wild and darting, Danny watched Lou leave, then he looked around the room, panic fluttering in his stomach nauseatingly.

“Spense?”  Danny whispered brokenly, his voice hardly audible. His throat was dry and his voice painfully weak. He couldn’t see Spense, hear Spense, _smell_ Spense.

He wasn’t there.

Shakily he raised his arm a few inches, the limb trembling as he started stupidly at the hospital’s wristband. He shuddered, head to foot, and a heavy tug the movement caused at the base of his clavicle drew his gaze. IV lines were pumping clear liquids into his body.  

Snatches of strange dreams or memories were coming to him. Pain and raging fever. Had he been ill? He _felt_ ill. Shaky and sick. Could Spense have brought him here to get him help? The thought gave him hope, and he looked looked over to the closed door, to the large observation bay window beside it. No Spense, no Leon, not even Walker. Instead there was a figure in uniform outside, his back to Danny… an HPD officer. 

Danny searched his mind for more information, but none of his dim memories would solidify into things more tangible.  He craved the escape which Spense had so generously granted him … those beautiful magical pills which would have made this so much easier.

 _Spense. God_ … where was Spense? What had happened?  

Danny looked up, his eyes wide, his fear now blatantly showing as another man strode purposefully into the room with Lou virtually on his heels. The white coat was telling, as was the man’s authoritative mannerisms. Danny tried to sink into the bed, his desire to shrink away nearly overwhelming.

“Detective Williams?”  The physician instantly slowed his pace, smiling gently. He was soft-spoken, small and heavy-set, with kindly eyes, completely un-intimidating. But Danny heard and saw none of that.   

 _Where was Spense?_ The mantra was suck inside his head and Danny barely heard the man’s introduction or initial question.   

“My name is Doctor Pukui. Do you know where you are?” 

He had nothing at all; his mind was blank beyond his mantra. Then a vague realization crept forward that some of his odd dreams had actually been _real_. The boats, the other voices, the scattered sensations of being moved. The spray of salt water and the cold of a sharp wind. Steve? _Steve_. Steve’s face, his strong arms, his _voice_. Danny shuddered helplessly.

Then hazy recollections trickled together into facts and he _knew_ , he _knew_ what had happened. _He’d been found and taken away from Spense_.   Danny’s next breath literally stutter-stopped inside his lungs. He shook his head, his panic growing exponentially. This was wrong …  _bad_  … in so, so many ways.  

 _Grace wasn’t safe! No one was safe! He was supposed to be with Spense! He was_ only _safe with Spense!_

“Detective? You’re safe here,” Doctor Pukui said quickly while he ducked his head closer, trying to catch Danny’s eye. “Do you understand? Can you calm your breathing? You  _are_ safe here. Completely.” 

Next to him Lou stifled a worried noise as Danny shook his head in bewilderment.

“Danny? Can you hear me?”

And Danny wanted to reply. He was _meant_ to reply when he was spoken to. Wasn’t he? But McCann hadn’t said _this_ was okay. Gripped by fear and uncertainty, Danny stopped trying to try to decipher the words that were still being directed towards him. The sounds zoned out.

For long moments the syllables became nothing more than white noise, reverberating at the base of his skull, until another instruction penetrated the fog, a random statement materializing out of nowhere at all. “Danny, raise your right hand if you understand me.”

And this time he obeyed automatically because he was a _good boy_ and _always_ did as he was told. Then he stared dumbly at his hand as though it had a mind of its own. The pulse point in his neck thrummed so deeply that he felt weaker, dizzier, sicker.  He couldn’t catch his breath. The scene around him zoned out again. Hand dropping limply, he swallowed convulsively and shook his head again. He didn’t understand. 

 _He needed Spense_. Where was he? He’d promised that he’d never leave Danny.  Everything was wrong and no one was safe.

In the midst of his total panic, Danny’s gaze fell to the wall beside him and by accident, _he saw it_.  A scuff mark on the wall, long, black and irregular. It merged subtly with a ragged scar gouged into the white paint to form an elongated triangle.  Something must have been dragged roughly across the wall to leave such damage.

He looked away but then was drawn back to the spot almost manically. It wasn’t his flap of wallpaper… but it was _something_. Danny’s eyes locked on that shape and held onto it, his mind immediately beginning to imagine what it might take to make it better. More symmetrical, more like the wallpaper had been. 

“Danny? Can you look at me?”

For the briefest of moments, Danny did as the voice told him… but carefully kept his eyes unfocused so what he saw couldn’t touch him. Then he looked right back over to his shape on the wall.

He started to relax. This was okay. This was better. He could do this. Spense would come for him. Spense had _promised_ he would always come for him. Spense would come, then everything would be okay again. Everyone would be safe. Everything would be right again.

Danny would wait for him.

 

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IC... let the now-traditional spotting of a thousand errors AFTER it's posted commence! :)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Steve awoke with a jerk, totally disoriented.

He exhaled in surprise as he realized where he was. In his own bed, his own room, for the first time in weeks! He’d _slept_ ; a deep, blessedly dreamless sleep. He remembered lying down, shutting his eyes, assuming he wouldn’t sleep at all. Isabelle Mercier and her quiet determination to get back on her feet after her ordeal must have given him even more hope than he had thought for his mind to switch off like that.

He turned his head, spotted his cell in its usual place on the bedside table and reached for it.

0900hours. _What_? He sat up, shocked to the core. Twelve hours?! He’d slept for twelve straight hours?! What had he missed?! What had….

There was a text sitting unopened. It was from Lou, and time-stamped _four hours_ earlier. He swore under his breath and opened it up.

_D temp down. Awake but not right. U coming in?_

“Shit. _Shit_!” Steve exclaimed.

Suddenly he was trying to do ten things at once in a flurry of arms and legs- get dressed, get his boots on, launch himself down the stairs. He pulled the blinds in his living room as he buttoned his fresh shirt, glancing outside to see the HPD car still out there, its occupants dutifully keeping him safe. There were more camped out in the back yard, taking turns to stand guard. One of the cops in the vehicle clocked him, gave him a little wave and he reciprocated on auto-pilot, mind firmly elsewhere.

Danny was awake?! ‘Not right’? What did Lou mean ‘not right’? That could mean anything.  Had he remembered what had really happened to him? Was he upset? Was he scared? Steve had to get to him, had to find out and try to help!

He couldn’t get out of the door fast enough.

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Steve only slowed from his head-long race when he neared Danny’s room. Caution crept back in the closer he got. He couldn’t just storm in. He had to be careful. Had to give Danny time to see him, to know him.

He hesitated, peeking round the edge of the observation window, feeling like a child in a forbidden room. Afraid of getting caught.

Lou was still there in Danny’s room, of course. One of the nurses by his side, he was standing, leaning over the bed slightly and frustratingly blocking Steve’s view of his partner.

Lou’s head and hands were moving, and Steve knew he was talking. By the slouch of his shoulders, Steve also knew Lou was exhausted. He needed a break. Maybe Steve could take over from him now, maybe. Maybe Danny would allow it. Maybe he would remember he trusted Steve.

Steve could scarcely dare to hope.

The big man stepped to one side, and Steve’s breath caught in his chest.

He only truly believed it now he could see it for himself. Danny really _was_ awake. His eyes were open, the clear blue piercing against the pale, bruised skin. Propped up in the bed, he still looked weak and sick but that awful grayness was gone. His color was just a little better.

Something eased inside of Steve; that tight, all-consuming fear that they would lose Danny altogether which had hung like a noose around his neck since they’d got him back. But all wasn’t well, of course. Danny was awake, but he looked… _shut off_. Head turned slightly away from Grover, he seemed to be staring at the wall, face blank. Frowning, Steve tried to follow his gaze, tried to see what he was looking at.

“Commander McGarrett!”

Steve turned abruptly to see Doctor Pukui behind him. “Doc! How’s he doing?”

“Better,” said Pukui, his voice full of reservation, _far_ from positive in spite of his words. “The anti-biotics are working. In terms of the sepsis, things are looking good. And his bloods are now clear of the drugs that were administered to him during his captivity. We’re maintaining the current dosage of diazepam meantime to limit the possibility of withdrawal symptoms, but we can think about starting to taper that off as he becomes stronger.”

“Great! That’s all good, right? Real good!” Steve couldn’t help the lop-sided smile of relief, because he’d been so damn scared for so long.

“Yeah,” agreed Pukui, not sounding relieved in the slightest. “I’m… concerned about his mental state. Very concerned. The psyche referral is in and I’m going to push that through, get him to the front of the queue.”

Steve blinked at him, then glanced behind him, looking back through the observation window. He did at double take at what he saw.

Lou was sitting beside Danny holding a bowl of something white and gunky that looked kind of like oatmeal. He was stirring it around erratically, looking distressed as hell. As Steve watched, the nurse laid a spoon on the little table over the bed. She pointed at it, plainly trying to catch Danny’s attention.

Danny was looking away, resolutely ignoring them both... but he was breathing a little faster. Was he getting upset?

Steve turned his whole body to face the scene, jaw clenched hard, absorbing every tiny detail of the interplay.

“Detective Williams is not communicating with us at the moment,” Pukui said, moving to stand beside him. “I’m sure there is an element of the weakening effects of the physical traumas he’s been through at play here. But we have to assume psychological trauma is playing a significant role here. He’s dissociated; shut off from the real world. We know he can hear us and understand us- he’s following basic instructions- but he’s not interacting.”

“He’s… he looks upset. Why are they… _what_ are they doing?”

“Encouraging him to eat. We’ve been feeding him through the stomach tube, but we want to progress from there as soon as possible. We’re offering him high fiber foods. We have to avoid constipation. It’s a delicate balance, because given his physical condition we would ordinarily push a high protein diet. But we want his stools soft to give the rape-related injuries he has the best chance of healing quickly.”

Steve nodded rhythmically along to the information, absorbing it in its barest, least awful, form as he watched the gentle battle going on in the hospital room between Danny, and Lou and the nurse.

“Everything else we’ve asked of him he just _does_ ,” Pukui said distantly, almost as though he was talking to himself. “He’s completely compliant. But not with this. There’s something different going on when it comes to food.”

“What do you mean?!”

Pukui shook his head. “This isn’t my area of expertise. I shouldn’t speculate.”

Steve turned to him abruptly. “Speculate. Please. I get you might be wrong but I respect your opinion.”

A long sigh and an assessing look, then the doctor nodded. “I would guess he’s been taught to do as he’s told without question. That’s pretty blatant actually. And he can do that without engaging with the world around him. It’s like a survival strategy- distancing his mind and obeying instructions without thought. But not when it comes to eating. They must have had him eat in a specific way, I guess. And eating on his own with cutlery wasn’t it, because he’s just not doing it.”

And he really wasn’t. As Steve watched, Lou, slow and careful, talking the whole time, reached for Danny’s hand. Danny put up no resistance as Lou placed the spoon in his palm and wrapped his fingers around it.

The doc was still talking. “He’s clearly deeply traumatized. We’ve added paroxetine to his meds. It takes a while to build up for any meaningful affect, but hopefully it will begin to help him in the near future.”

Steve nodded again, barely listening at all now because Danny wasn’t gripping the spoon. Each time Lou took his hand away, the utensil would drop to the covers of the bed. Then Steve watched, totally mesmerized, as Lou stuck spoon in the oatmeal and scooped a tiny amount onto it. He reached for Danny’s hand again, waving the spoon about a little in front of the blond man as he did, moving it as though to punctuate whatever encouraging words he was spouting.

This time there was a reaction. Never looking away from the wall, _Danny opened his mouth_.

Everything ground to a halt. Lou froze, mouth hanging open. The nurse put a hand to her face and Steve heard Pukui swear softly beneath his breath.

Danny was expecting to be _fed_.

As Steve watched, he remembered what he’d seen on Molokai.

_McCann’s fingers on Danny’s lips, Danny opening up willingly. No argument, no force applied._

Steve thought he was going to be sick. “Oh God,” he choked out.

And Lou must have sensed they were being watched, because at that very moment he looked round and caught Steve’s eye. The friends exchanged a look of sheer anguish.

Then Lou set his jaw, turned back to Danny and did what he had to do. He spooned the food into Danny’s mouth, shaking his head as he did so. And Danny ate the food, never uttering a word, never looking away from the wall. Being fed like a fucking child. No, a child would interact. Like… like he was brain damaged or something, never mind traumatized. It was _awful_ to watch his best friend reduced to _this_.

“You okay?”

Steve nodded brusquely at Pukui’s query; a blatant lie.

“Like I said… I’ll get that psyche referral pushed through, fast.”

Steve didn’t acknowledge him. He continuing to watch as Lou kept right on feeding Danny.

Then his legs started to move of their own accord. Steve walked in to Danny’s room, grabbed a spare plastic chair. Never taking his eyes from his partner, he positioned it on the opposite site of the bed from Lou, near to Danny’s line of sight, but not in it. He sat down.

There was a moment, just for a second, where it seemed like Danny looked at him. Steve automatically opened his mouth to speak, but corrected himself in time and closed it again. He smiled softly at his friend, a silent greeting, praying that Danny wasn’t about to panic at the sight of him.

Then Danny was breathing harder, and that wasn’t good. Steve tensed and glanced at the door, ready to beat a retreat… but then Danny’s eyelids fluttered and he looked away.

He stared at the wall.

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny waited.

He did everything was told and he waited for Spense. His stomach ached for his pills. His skin itched and his guts cramped, his body hurt from head to toe. They’d told him to eat so, even though nausea was still roiling in his guts, he had opened his mouth obediently. Swallowed it down. He hadn’t been sick somehow. But he knew that meant he’d need to go to the toilet in a few hours and the idea of _that_ was terrifying because he _knew_ it was gonna hurt bad and he wanted to be alone but he didn’t even know where the bathroom was. Even if he had, he didn’t think he could walk. He’d probably need help.

But he didn’t ask and he didn’t complain; he knew innately those things weren’t allowed by now.

Spense would come. Spense would bring the pills, take him wherever he was supposed to be, make sure he knew where he was allowed to go and when. He’d fix everything. Everyone would be safe again.

Danny waited. He ate and took pills and stared at the wall while people touched his body, jabbed him with needles, gave him drugs. Some of them talked to him, but as though he wasn’t really there. Talked _at_ him. He kept his distance, looked at the wall and waited.

Then _Steve_ came in. Danny sensed his presence instantly and it snapped him back to reality with a harsh jolt. Involuntarily, he glanced towards the familiar shape he could see out of the corner of his eye.

Muscled and tattooed as ever, but pale and haggard and thin, Steve looked so ridiculously concerned Danny would have smacked him upside the head for it once upon a time. Not now. Instead of mocking his partner, Danny felt a lurch of panic, Walker’s vicious words replaying inside his head.

Danny teetered at the edge of a total loss of control, a black crevasse in his mind, panting and gulping for breath. Lou was talking to him; he could feel the deep baritone vibrating around his skull though he didn’t catch the words.

He turned back to his mark on the wall in search of his escape. But before he found it an old mantra jumped in, came to the rescue. _Not Steve. Not Steve. Not Steve._

Steve hadn’t hurt him. Walker had tricked him with the dumb black box. _Not Steve._ Steve would _never_ hurt him. Slowly he calmed, slowly.

As his pulse dropped and the adrenaline rush receded, Danny risked a second glance. Steve was still there, sitting quietly a few feet away, lips pressed together into a thin line. Danny saw his partner’s big, sad eyes and some distant part of him wished he could say something to make the man feel better.

He sagged against his pillow and turned back to the wall.

He drifted. Then a nurse gave him a pill and told him it was time to sleep so he slept.

It was dark when he awoke again.

The big light in the room was off, but Danny could see enough from the light outside in the hall to recognize the only other occupant of the room. Lou was gone. The man in the chair beside him was Steve.  

Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett, asleep, head resting uncomfortably on his own shoulder, breaths puffing gently through his open mouth. That panicky feeling surged through Danny again, but this time he shook it off more easily. This was _Steve_. Not Walker. Steve was his best friend and he’d do anything for Danny.

But Spense _still_ wasn’t there. Why hadn’t he come? He had to be angry by now.

Then a terrible thought came to Danny. Maybe it was a _test_. _Maybe Danny was supposed to find Spense._ If that was the case, Danny was failing him in a big way.

This was bad, this was really bad. He looked around, breaths now sounding harsh to his own ears, until his gaze came to rest on his slumbering partner. Steve. He could trust Steve. Steve had been to hell and back for him over the years. Steve would do _anything_ for him.

_Anything._

Danny’s mind ticked over slowly as he tried to join the muddle of dots presented by his snatches of confusing memories.

Steve would do anything for him. If anyone would help Danny now, it was Steve.

He moved his lips, searching for the sounds he needed to make. He tried to say his friend’s name but his mind dug in its heels stubbornly. Danny’s face screwed up in frustration. Talking was _hard_. Since when had talking become hard? He tried again, fighting desperately for the courage to speak freely, something inside all the while screaming at him to just shut the hell up.

This time he managed. “S-Steve?”

With a momentary flailing of arms and legs, Steve sat up, eyes wide open. As he met Danny’s fearful gaze, the confusion on his face was replaced almost instantaneously by an expression too complicated to name. There was concern there. Anguish. Love with an edge of desperation. Hope tempered by uncertainty, and for some reason it was that uncertainty that hit Danny the hardest.

Steve’s mouth opened and Danny watched it move to make the ‘D’ of his name. But something stopped the word coming out. There was a drawn out silence. Danny stared at his friend’s immobile lips and started to doubt himself, doubt his own judgement, because since when did _his_ Steve not jump right on in with both feet to save the day, without a second thought, at an instant’s notice?

Adrenaline pounding, blood rushing in his ears, Danny tried again. “S-Steve.”

 _Now_ the SEAL responded. “Danny…,” Steve whispered in the strangest way, saying the word like an apology.

And maybe Steve was a few steps ahead of Danny in this unfamiliar dance, because the impact of the mere sound of his best friend’s voice was like an electric shock, setting off a chain reaction in his body. He gasped out loud at the initial stab of fear. It sent a sharp chill clear down his spine, ending in the pit of his stomach with a brutal twist of the darkest fear.

Danny shifted his gaze to his mark on the wall, _fast_. He shivered, moaning softly, as he looked at the mark, studied its shape, used it to try to pull away from the fear and center himself.

 _Not Steve. Not Steve. Not Steve,_ he reminded himself. Then he was whispering the words, pushing them out forcefully, _determined_ not to let Walker and his evil games get between him and his partner, because it _wasn’t_ Steve who had done those things to him. “Not Steve. Not Steve. No!”

He gritted his teeth, turned back to his friend only to find he had moved. Steve was now on his feet, several steps away from the bed and backing slowly towards the door, the look of heart-break on his face more than Danny could bear.

The dark-haired man froze when he saw Danny looking. He mouthed a silent apology, then backed away another step. He was going to leave!

Danny shook his head, eyes widening as he saw his chance disappearing. He heaved in a breath of air, briefly closed his eyes, then pushed out a desperate plea, praying Steve would understand. “W-wasn’t you,” he rasped. “S’okay. M’sorry.”

And God bless him, Steve understood. Teary-eyed, he came closer again. Right up close this time, in fact. He leaned over Danny, took hold of his hand and squeezed gently, then smiled a soft smile.

Looking into wonderfully familiar slate blue eyes, for the shortest moment Danny felt _safe_. Felt like he was _home_. But then reality bit back because he didn’t belong here anymore, no matter how much he wished he did.

“H-help me,” Danny pleaded of his best friend, his voice thin and thready from lack of use. “P-please.” The effort of speaking cost him, sent the room spinning around him.

Steve’s face loomed a little closer, his expressive features telling a story of their own. Yet he still seemed hesitant to speak. Danny pulled on his hand, insistent.

“Anything,” Steve choked out instantly. Then he paused, as though waiting for the fearful reaction that Danny sure as hell felt, but somehow managed to conceal this time round.

Apparently emboldened by Danny’s sterling efforts, Steve spoke again with a little more confidence. “Danny, name it. I mean it. _Anything_. Anything at all, Danno ….“

The outline of Steve’s face blurred a little as Danny’s own eyes welled with tears, even though his mouth was now as dry as dust. He _had_ to find the words to explain what he needed. But it was so hard. He was fading again, he could feel it. His mind said ‘no’, his strength was waning and sleep was pulling at him yet again.

But this was so important. This mattered more than anything.

With furious determination, Danny pulled together the last of his energy. He held Steve’s gaze like a drowning man clutching the mast of a sinking ship.

"Help me… g-get back to S-Spense," he whispered.

 

 

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters.
> 
> Happy Easter everyone :)

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

The washed pastels of the beautiful Hawaiian dawn trickled through the window, casting a mosaic of soft light and dancing shadows across the floor of Danny’s hospital room.

Steve couldn’t catch his breath.

He watched helplessly as the tones of Danny’s pale skin seemed to change almost imperceptibly in the shifting light, the pink hue of the new day gradually building the illusion of a healthy glow on the weak man’s thin face.

Two hours had passed since Danny had begged for Steve’s help to return to McCann. Steve couldn’t absorb it, couldn’t get his head round it. McCann had him so fucked up he _wanted_ to go back.

Steve had failed to respond at the time, shocked beyond the point of being able to find words appropriate for the situation. He’d stared at Danny, mouth open, watched dumbly as sleep had pulled the blond man rapidly away from him… blessedly fast enough for his stunned silence not to have visibly upset the desperate man. But God… there had been such _hope_ in Danny’s eyes. He _wanted_ to go back. He actually, genuinely _wanted_ to go back. And he honestly thought Steve might help him achieve that!

From nowhere, Spenser McCann’s hated voice whispered in Steve’s ear.

_I told you Commander… by the time I’ve finished with him, he’s going to be begging to stay with me. He wouldn’t come back to you if you paid him to. He’s going to beg me to fuck him more, fuck him harder._

The sudden recollection of McCann’s words, words which had seemed nothing short of insane at the time, and the stark realisation that they could in fact be approaching the truth, hit Steve hard in the gut. He literally gagged, bile rising to the back of his throat out of nowhere. Hand covering his mouth, he jerked to his feet and took a couple of steps away from the bed.

He backed away further, clear into the hall, then staggered past a few doors to the public restroom. He slammed the door shut and darted into the nearest cubicle, falling to his knees and hanging over the bowl.

Jesus. The drugs were out of Danny’s system, the fever had broken… and _Danny wanted to go back_. He was still using that fucking pet name for McCann too. _Spense_. A little detail like that shouldn’t matter. But it fucking well did.

It was all too much to take. Steve retched. Nothing came up and the tight ball of nausea hadn’t lessened, so he made himself retch again. _Fuck_.

Immersed as his was in his own stunned misery, Steve didn’t hear anyone enter the room until there was a soft knock at the door of his cubicle.

 _Shit._ “Jus’ a minute,” he choked out.

“Steve?”

Wade! It was Wade Gutches.

“Steve, the HPD guy outside Danny’s room- Officer Akui is it? Anyway, he just flagged me down. Said you looked like shit.”

Steve spat a couple of times, cursing under his breath. He hated showing the chinks in his armor to fellow SEALS more than anyone. “M’fine. Jus’ need a minute.”

“Yeah well. I told him not to worry cause you always look like shit to me.”

Steve snorted. “Fuck you very much, Wade.”

Gutches laughed. “Same to you. Come on, brother. I ain’t really one for the touchy-feely stuff as you know. Can you just get your ass out here and let me ascertain whether or not you’re about to slit your wrists so I can get on with my day in peace?”

Gutches was a total fucker. He wasn’t going to be fobbed off. Steve nodded to no one in particular, then flushed before pushing himself to his feet. He opened the door and instantly met Gutches’ appraising eye.

Steve gestured at himself with one hand. “See? Fine. Something I ate, that’s all.”

Gutches gave him a disdainful look. “Whatever, McGarrett. What’s your problem anyway?”

He really _was_ a fucker. Gutches sounded totally disinterested and looked nonchalant, like this was a normal day and Steve had no business being upset.

Steve knew what he was doing. He knew it was the most basic of interview techniques, designed to piss off the interviewee by demonstrating a total lack of empathy, unbalancing them so they lash out angrily and reveal their innermost secrets. But Steve was sailing so close to the edge that the knowledge of what his good friend was pulling to make him spill his guts didn’t help him. He saw red, a total fury hitting him like a sledgehammer.

“What’s my problem?!” he blurted out in a growl. “My problem is that my partner was kidnapped and raped and head-fucked and now he’s begging me to take him back to the bastard who did it! That’s what! Are you happy?!”

Then Gutches’ hands were on his shoulders, his face was right in front of Steve’s. “No I’m not fucking happy, you dick. But we’re going to get McCann. Right? Danny needs time and support. McCann needs his balls cut off and stuffed down his throat. Capiche?”

Steve wasn’t going to cry, he refused to. He nodded brusquely, the hot flames of anger still coursing through him with nowhere to go. “Yeah. Yeah. I need to get him. I need to get Walker too. But I’ve gotta be _here_ , can’t leave Danny. He wants to _go_ , Wade! And he’s gonna get stronger, what if he tries… I can’t leave him!”

Wade sank his fingers into Steve’s biceps so hard it hurt. “So…  we extract your head from your ass and come up with a plan. Screw waiting for INTERPOL to sort things out. They’ve shown themselves to be shit at best, as far as I can see. You; you were always the smart one. Not as smart as Danny as I understand it, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? So use that brain of yours and come up with a plan. We’ll get the bastards on your behalf while you keep your boy where he’s supposed to be. If you want to come lay hands on them before things get official… I’m sure we can facilitate that.”

Steve didn’t need to stop for one second to wonder if Wade was joking on that last point or not. “We just need to get them…!” he exclaimed uselessly. But then his brain finally _did_ kick in. “So… we need to draw them out.” He stared at Wade, breathing hard as pumping adrenaline gradually gave way to actual constructive thought.

Wade smiled and stepped back, releasing him. “Good, good! Now we’re getting somewhere! Well, we have something we know McCann was pretty attached to…. Don’t go crazy on me… but we could use _Danny_ as bait,” Wade suggested hesitantly. “Cut security, put him somewhere more accessible, maybe….”

“ _No_! No fucking way,” Steve cut him dead, hissing through gritted teeth. “Not happening, Wade.”

Wade put his hands out to the side in total surrender. “Okay, okay! Understandable. So what else does McCann want?”

Steve shook his head, uncertain. “He already has the weapon. That’s what he was here for; to build it and plant it wherever the hell it is. INTERPOL say he can activate it remotely, he doesn’t even need to come here. He just needs the activation code and he’s got people working on…” -he paused for a second- “the activation code. Of course! The activation code! That’s what he needs!”

“Great! You have it?”

“No. _Nobody_ does as far as we’re aware. Only Professor Mercier knew it and he’s deceased.”

“But if McCann _thinks_ we have it….”

Steve took a few deep breaths, working it through his mind. He shook his head. “It might not work. McCann might not take the risk. His people might be too close to cracking it themselves already.”

“In which case the island’s getting blown up and we’re all fucked anyway. Right?”

“Right,” Steve whispered. He shuddered. Funny how a massive imminent threat to Oahu could be deprioritized in his mind so completely by what had happened to Danny even though said massive imminent threat could potentially kill the pair of them and everyone they held dear.

A sudden doubt hit him. Was this why McCann had done what he had done to Danny? Just to keep Five-0 running in circles? And had he let them get Danny back _deliberately_ to keep their minds off what he was doing at a key moment? Had it all been calculated? Could Leon be working for the mercenary after all?

There were far too many questions, and answers for none of them. They would have to take a risk. But how could they possibly have come by the code? What would be believable to McCann?

“So?” Wade prodded.

“So… I need to know more about it. More about the weapon, the code, who else might have known it.” Isabelle Mercier… the name drifted across his mind. She had said she didn’t know the damn code. But in theory she _could_ have… and if they could convince McCann somehow that she _did_ know it… he might just come hunting for her. But that could mean putting her in danger. Could he really ask that of her? He didn’t _want_ to put her at any risk, not for a second. She’d been through more than enough already.

He was pacing the restroom floor now, mind working overtime. Then he realized… he _had_ to _ask_ Isabelle at the very least. She was in a good enough state to make an informed decision on whether or not to be involved, unlike Danny. That difference was key. They couldn’t expose Danny to further danger, he was entirely vulnerable in every way and had to be protected. Isabelle Mercier had been damaged and traumatized… but she had her wits about her. She might actually _want_ a chance to help bring the men responsible for her ordeal and her father’s ultimate demise to justice.

Decision made, he stopped, looked over at Wade, then pulled his cell from his pocket and switched it on. Fingers racing, he knocked out a message to the French woman.

_How do you feel about climbing down that drainpipe again?_

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Steve checked his watch.

Thirty minutes had passed with no response from Isabelle. He glanced over to the observation window and saw Gutches deep in conversation with Kono, a few feet from Officer Akui. Kono looked exhausted too, he realized. They were all pushing themselves to the extreme on this one.

As he watched, she met his eye and nodded once, decisive and determined, before turning to walk back to her favored post outside the hospital entrance. Steve felt a warm glow inside, understanding her instantly. She was with them, whatever they decided to do. A glimmer of a plan had formed as he and Gutches had talked it out in the john, and Kono was key.

If Steve still heard Danny’s voice in his head, he had no doubt it would have jumped in to say it was a stupid plan. It probably was. But that voice was still silent and times were desperate. The clock was ticking on the mysterious weapon, INTERPOL were being no more forthcoming than they ever had been, and McCann and Walker had to pay for what they had done to Danny. Five-0 had to strike back while they still could.

But the plan still hinged on Isabelle Mercier.

Steve had contemplated approaching LaRouche with their plan in the hope of being granted official access to the recovering scientist… but LaRouche’s opinion of him was rock bottom. He was pretty sure the agent would say ‘no’ on principle.

No, they had to try this, and, with all the mistrust and betrayal that had come hand in hand with this nightmare case so far, they had to try it alone.

He checked his cell again, hoping he wouldn’t get kicked out the room just for having it switched on now the equipment Danny was attached to was much reduced. No messages.

“Come on, Isabelle,” he muttered to himself.

A quiet gasp from the bed had him looking up into his partner’s eyes with a start. And, right then, all else was forgotten because this was Danny. Danny, who he could _sense_ needed him right now no matter the complications that Walker had foist on their relationship. Danny, who had _begged_ for his help in all the wrong ways with the first sentences he had dared to utter.

“Hey you,” Steve whispered, trying not to let the tension show on his face.

Danny shuddered visibly at the sound of his voice, but then seemed to shake it off and focused his gaze again on his partner. Steve smiled at him, slowly absorbing the fact that, this time, Danny seemed different. Like he was _really_ awake. Alert and aware. There was a brightness in the blue that had been absent before. Steve tried to quash the feeling of hope that hummed in his chest, but it was going nowhere.

“Steve?” Danny croaked. Then he raised his head, looking around the room, searching desperately. _Looking for McCann?_ Shakily, the blond man pushed himself up onto one elbow, wincing as he did.

Warmed by the demonstration of Danny’s continuing physical improvement, but cautious at the same time, Steve shook his head. He reached forwards and placed the lightest touch on Danny’s chest. Danny juddered in fear, one of his pillows falling to the floor as he tried to resist the gentle restraint. Steve closed his eyes for a second, resisting the temptation to remove his hand as a knee-jerk reaction. They had to try to move past this. Danny had to remember he trusted Steve.

“Wait bud, please. Don’t move till the doctor clears it, okay?”

Obeying the verbal instruction instantly, Danny relented and lay back.

Steve squeezed Danny’s arm gently, blanking the sick feeling the blond man’s obedience brought. “You’re okay here,” he whispered. “Easy. Just lie still, okay? You want me to raise the end of the bed a little, sit you up?”

Danny ignored him, his eyes continuing their frantic sweep of his surroundings. “S-Spense?” He mouthed the word, but Steve didn’t miss it.

Still the hope inside Steve refused to die. Maybe things had changed. Maybe Danny didn’t want McCann. Maybe he was scared the bastard was coming to get him this time.

The alternative still sticking in his throat, Steve went with the theory, praying he was right. He had to make Danny _believe_ he was okay right where he was. And Steve had the words ready, because he’d been preparing for this moment for freaking _weeks._ Ever since he’d said the wrong things when Danny had phoned him. Ever since Mercier had died in front of him. Ever since he began to understand the power McCann could exert over other people’s minds.

“Danny,” he said, softly and soothingly, every syllable carefully measured. “Danny, listen to me. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe, your kids are safe. We’ve got people on them 24-7. People we trust. We caught the mole in HPD- McCann can’t touch them. Everyone’s safe! The team, their families. Even your folks in New Jersey. Your sisters. We’ve got everyone covered, Danny, by people we’ve vetted ourselves. There’s no one he can get to now. He has nothing to hold over you now. You’re _free_ of him, babe.”

But Danny shook his head. “No. _Not_ safe,” he protested, his voice a weak croak. “Spense will….” But then he stopped, mouth open, a look of total confusion crossing his thin features.

Steve frowned, wondering vaguely why Danny was unsure about what McCann might try and do. The mercenary’s threats to Danny’s people had to have been pretty specific. But he didn’t waste his time thinking about it. He shook his head determinedly and pushed on, because he couldn’t let doubts of any sort creep in to the equation here. He needed Danny to believe his conviction. Have total confidence in him. “Yes. Yes they are,” he insisted. “He _can’t_ get to them. Danny, I promise you. I promise they’re safe. And so are _you_. McCann can’t get in here, this place is like a fortress. Promise. It’s _over_.”

It felt like that should have been the clincher, that Danny should have started to get it… but it had the opposite effect. Danny’s eyes widened in _horror_. And the words he choked out weren’t spoken in relief, but in shock and panic. “S-Spense can’t get in?!”

Those light blue eyes darted to the window again, then the open door. They fixed there.

Heart suddenly in his mouth, Steve reached out and touched Danny’s chin.

Danny flinched away from him minutely, then meekly allowed the touch that guided him back to meet Steve’s gaze.

“Listen to me, Danny. You’re safe. Just relax. I’ve got your back again now.”

Raising one arm slowly, Danny closed trembling fingers around Steve’s wrist and squeezed. The expression on his face, in his eyes, was awful. Weak and desperate and plaintive and so _not Danny_. " _Please_. Steve, h-help me. I can't… I can’t _be_ here.”

"Oh Danny, no," Steve whispered right back, tone tight with emotion, his own eyes suddenly glassy with unshed tears because had his speech been for nothing?     

"You ... you don't understand!" Danny choked out. Then the words kept right on coming in a broken, conspiratorial whisper. A rush of words pushed out for Steve’s ears only. "Spense… He's going to be angry… I need to go back. I need to make things right... before Walker… Walker will come! I need to apologize to Spense! "

Steve shook his head, trying to understand the quiet jumble of half-formed sentences. The final one stood out a mile. "What?! _Apologize_?! Seriously buddy, for what?! You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing! It’s all on _them_."

Danny was openly begging now, soft speech hurried and uncontrolled, and _God_ it hurt to see. “P-please S-Steve! I’m… I’m meant to be _with_ him! Help me, please. I know h-how to keep him happy ... I know what he _likes_." His desperation was clearly growing, his breathing becoming harsher and more erratic.

Face a picture of horror, Steve choked out his own response. "You know what he _likes_?! _Jesus Christ,_ Danny!!" Steve felt that bile rising up again, felt the rage simmering just below the surface for what McCann had done to his strong, stubborn partner. He tried to keep a lid on it, tried not to let it boil over because it wasn’t Danny’s _fault_. “You can’t be…”

“I can fix it!” Danny interrupted, still in that small, fearful tone that simply wasn’t _him_. “If I stay… you’re not safe. Grace isn’t safe. If I go… it’ll be okay. I’ll be _okay_."

“On what planet would you be okay back with him?!” Steve exclaimed, voice rising, and he could have kicked himself for it when he saw the flicker of fear in Danny’s eyes.

“He… he _loves_ me!” Danny protested, voice cracking as it rose above a whisper for the first time. “ _Everyone_ _’_ _s_ s-safe if I’m with him!”

This was nothing short of a nightmare. Leon had warned them, had told them Danny believed these things, but it was… shocking, _horrible_ to hear, and Steve was seriously having to work to keep a lid on his feelings right then, but that anger began to leak out in spite of his intentions. “He told you he _loves_ you?! You have to be fucking kidding me, Danny! Please! Please… take a moment and… _think_ about what McCann actually said to you. And what he _did_ to you. Tell me what you really believe about him.”

The reply came out instantly. “I love Spense,” Danny rasped. “I’m safe with him.” The words were flat and monotone amongst increasingly rapid, panicked breaths; a blatant learned response.

Steve swore vehemently, then grasped Danny’s hand again between both of his. He took a few deep breaths, ducking his head down and resting it against the back of Danny’s hand for a moment before he met that fearful gaze again. “Danny… you don’t love Spenser McCann,” he said gently, _beseechingly_. “You remember the things he did, right? He shot me. He kidnapped you. He _raped_ you. Danny, he _threatened Gracie_. If he loved you… would he really threaten the people _you_ love? _Think_ about it, buddy! It makes no sense!”

Danny stared at him, wide-eyed with distress, and that confusion was showing again. For a moment, Steve thought he was getting though. But then Danny shook his head in frantic protest, “No! That w-was… was all _Walker_ , Spense _p-protected_ m-me,” he panted.

Steve shook his head firmly, wondering at the extent to which McCann had messed with Danny’s perception of reality. “No, babe. I know Walker hurt you too… but we know it was with McCann’s blessing. And McCann _did_ do all those things to you. I’m sorry, babe.”

Danny shook his head. “No, he… he was fair… wh-when I was good.”

That was too much to bear. Feeling an imminent explosion building inside, Steve jerked to his feet, put his hands on his head and turned a tight circle in the small room, fighting for control.

 “Jesus Danny, NO!” He was shouting now in spite of his best intentions, and he saw Wade and Officer Akui glance their way in concern, but he didn’t stop. “NO, no, no! When you were _good_?! Are you kidding me right now?! Is that what I was seeing at that freaking house on Molokai?! Were you being a _good boy_ sucking him off?! He was being _fair_ to you making you kneel in front of all those bastards? Was that what it was? Danny, FUCK!!”

Now Danny was silent save for those harsh, panting breaths.

 _Shit_.

Steve shouldn’t have said that. Regret flooded through him. Danny didn’t need to know they’d seen him doing what he had to do to survive, not yet anyway. He turned back to the blond man, kicking himself all over again when he saw the shaking body, the eyes squeezed shut. What the hell was he thinking, yelling at a traumatized rape victim like that?!

He went back to Danny’s side and sat down again, laying a hesitant hand on his arm. Danny inhaled sharply in fright, and Steve kicked himself all over again when he heard Danny begin to whisper; “Not Steve. Not Steve. Not Steve.”

It was obvious what Steve had just done. His anger had just knocked Danny right back to the trauma of Walker’s attack.

”I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry,” he chuffed out, a frantic attempt at damage control. “I shouldn’t have shouted and I shouldn’t have told you that, not _now_. I’m so sorry for what you went through and I know you just did what you had to, okay buddy? What you went through… I can’t even imagine. And I know you must have had to think a certain way to get through. I get that. But you’re _free_ now. You don’t have to say the things he made you say or act the way he made you act any more. It’s _over_. Buddy, he didn’t love you. He hurt you, but it’s over. He didn’t love you no matter what he said. _We_ love you. _I_ love you. You belong _here_.”

Danny stared at him, panting hard. His hands were tightly fisted, every muscle in his body was tensed. But his face was expressionless now. His words had all dried up. It was like he’d just shut down all over again… but his eyes shone with fear. What had Steve just done?! 

“Steve? You guys okay?”

Steve turned his head to see Wade, Officer Akui in his wake. Gutches’ concern was on open display this time. And no, he was far from okay. He’d just fucked this up royally. He should have talked to a freaking psychiatrist before starting to try to speak to Danny about any of this. He’d just thought…. He’d been naïve as hell, thinking their friendship alone could overcome the trauma Danny had been through.

“We’re…. He’s upset,” Steve said, stating the obvious.

“Easy. Steve … take it easy on him,” Wade whispered softly and Steve nodded, just once, then glanced down and inhaled sharply as he realized just how tight a grip he had unknowingly placed on Danny’s forearm.

“Shit,” he murmured, releasing his hold altogether. “Sorry D, sorry.” He bowed his head, breathing hard as he tried to get hold of his spiraling emotions.

“I’ll go get his doctor, he’s just up the hall,” Steve heard Wade say and the man left the room abruptly.

“Can I do anything to help?”

Steve shrugged helplessly, glancing up at Officer Akui. The man shook his head in silent apology, then bent to pick up the fallen pillow which lay forgotten near the head end of the bed.

Then everything happened so fast it took Steve’s breath away.

As Akui bent down by the bed, Danny moved without hesitation, lunging for the officer’s holstered sidearm. His hand closed around the butt and yanked it free at the same moment Steve shouted a horrified warning. Too late, because the gun was already in Danny’s grasp.

“Danny!” Steve shouted, as his partner threw himself from the bed and clattered to the hard floor, wild eyes fixed on the door and gun hand raised. As tubes tore free, and equipment upended, machines began to blare and figures began to descend on the room, coming to an abrupt halt at the door as they took in what was happening.

“Danny! Stop!” Steve blanked the gun, sliding to his knees in front of his partner and reaching for Danny’s shoulders. But Danny swung the weapon towards him, and there was no light of reason in his eye. Steve stopped.

The gun shook violently in Danny’s grasp, the weight of the weapon almost too much, as he pushed himself backwards with his feet, away from Steve, sliding painfully until his back hit the wall.

“G-gotta go _back_. Help me!” Danny panted to Steve, like he was the only person in the room.

Steve shook his head in complete denial, tears filling his eyes as he watched Danny’s finger tighten on the trigger. This was it, this was what he’d dreaded. This was Mercier all over again. This was everything he’d worked so hard to avoid. McCann’s power over Danny was absolute, his grip on him rock solid. It felt like he had won. Like they had lost Danny for good.

“Danny… _please_. Put down the gun. _Please_ ,” Steve begged. “I _love_ you. Put it _down_.”

And Danny was staring at the gun in his trembling hand like he didn’t understand how it got there… yet his resolve was still absolute. “S-Steve? Please. Take me _back_.”

Anything. Steve would say _anything_ to save Danny. He’d made that pledge weeks before, and he’d meant it. Still the tears began to run down his cheeks unchecked as he made his reply. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll help you buddy. I’ll take you to Spense, okay? Just put the gun down! _Please_.”

Clear blue eyes shifted to meet his, and Steve gasped at the fear he saw there. Danny was terrified. Of where he was, of what might happen. Of Steve. He was afraid to believe him, and Steve couldn’t blame him at all, because every word was a lie.

“Babe,” he whispered, speech as broken as his heart. “I’ll help you. I promise. Trust me.”

The barest flicker of hope appeared on Danny’s face. Of relief. The gun hand wavered… then dropped down, the weapon clattering out of Danny’s tenuous grasp onto the floor.

Steve moved forward fast, wrapped his arms around the fallen man and held him tight as the doctor moved in, sedative in hand. He held Danny close, hand grasping the nape of his neck, lips pressed to his temple. He whispered to him as the needle pressed in and Danny went limp.

And, as Steve rocked his partner, tears burning hot tracks down his face, the rage inside him built to a dark ball of explosive hate. Danny was broken and McCann was going to pay.

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by IC and Swifters

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Steve stood in the shadows at the edge of the enclosed, windowless room, still and silent. His eyes, dull and cold, were fixed on a meaningless spot on the floor. He was a man filled with dark hate and a thirst for vengeance. The taste of defeat, sharp and bitter, was strong, because McCann had won the only battle that mattered, just as he said he had in that fucking note. Danny was _McCann’s_. Danny was broken. And, after holding him on that cold floor, something inside Steve had finally broken too.

Steve had wrestled to keep hope alive inside himself; hope that somehow once Danny was safe, and well, and the drugs had worn off, he would be okay. Traumatized, yes, but still Danny. But that hope had been obliterated once and for all. A sick feeling of loss rattled around inside him like some frantic trapped beast, because he had absolutely no idea if they would _ever_ get Danny back now.

_A gun wavering in a trembling hand, yet resolutely pointed at Steve. Blue eyes, manic and terrified. A shivering body, bony and weak, finally going limp in Steve’s arms. A scruffy head lolling against Steve’s chest._

The terrible memories were too recent, too traumatic, for Steve to shut away effectively and, every single time they replayed in his mind, his anger grew. Steve was struggling, _really_ struggling, to cope with what had happened in that hospital room because he was a man of action, a man who needed to control and to plan, and he had no understanding of how they could even _begin_ to try to fix his best friend.

It felt like Danny was gone. Dead.

He’d had to be sedated as Steve held him close on that hospital floor. It had been long minutes before Steve could bring himself to respond to the doctor’s urges and lay his partner down, let them fix him up yet again. Danny had torn lines and tubes free as he’d launched himself from the bed, and Steve had watched, back pressed against the wall, panting for breath, shaking with horror and disbelief, as they’d treated the unconscious man. 

Danny was lucky his bid for freedom had only resulted in superficial damage to his body. But what was going to come next? There had been talk of restraining him when he came round to prevent more of the same behavior until his current course of IV antibiotics was complete, but that wasn’t going to happen, that _couldn’t_ happen. Steve wouldn’t _allow_ it. Not after what he’d been through. So what… what could they do? Keep him sedated until they were happy he was physically recovering? Maybe. But then what?

Danny had proved he was a danger to other people and to himself. Unless there was a dramatic improvement in his state of mind he would be admitted to Tripler’s secure psychiatric ward when he was well enough. He would have no choice in the matter, and neither would Steve. Danny would have to be locked up for everyone’s safety.

A nasty voice in the back of Steve’s mind hissed at him. _You think you rescued him… but he’s still a prisoner. You’re as bad as McCann._

A ruthless stab of the darkest grief hit him and Steve’s nostrils flared as he battled to get a hold of it. He punched it down, staring intensely at his chosen spot on the floor. He grabbed that sickening emotion, channeled it forcefully into the boiling pot of anger inside him. He’d _use_ it.

McCann had done this. Walker had done this. They were going to pay, they were going to suffer. Steve would see to it that their plot would fail. They weren’t going to kill anyone else, rape anyone else. Steve had a plan to make it happen now. He just had to focus long enough to execute it. After that… after that he could worry about Danny. About the _lies_ Steve had been forced to tell him. About how his partner was going to react when he came round and discovered Steve had no intention of helping him return to McCann, no matter what he had promised under duress.

 _Jesus_.

“Commander?”

Steve looked up, then tried to temper the furious glare he was wearing as he saw a ripple of shock pass across the face of Nohea Ululani, the journalist he’d met fleetingly during Danny’s captivity. He’d consented to a brief interview at the time and she’d pushed her card into his pocket as they’d spoken, but he’d never, ever considered the possibility he might actually call her. Turned out a TV journalist was exactly who they needed to kick off their plan.

He plastered a grim smile on his face, which seemed to alarm her even more, but, evidently a seasoned professional, she carried on unperturbed.

“We’re all set up. Ready when you give us the say-so.”

Smile disappearing, Steve scanned the room. Only Nohea and her cameraman were in the studio with them, and the cameraman was in the process of attaching a microphone to Isabelle Mercier’s blouse. Both of them had been checked out by Jerry and both appeared squeaky-clean.

Steve caught Isabelle’s eye, raised his eyebrow.

She nodded nervously. She was ready too.

Steve cleared his throat. “You’ll stick to the script?” he said to Nohea.

Nohea nodded. “I guarantee it. And we’ll sit on the interview for two hours and air it as a live broadcast just as you requested. No one will know the difference if we cast it direct to the web from this room, not even other Hawaii News employees. And I can promise no one inside this building saw you arrive and no one will see you leave, not from our organization anyway. The fire exit we used isn’t overlooked from the building and your vehicle is right outside. But what happens outside the studio… I can’t be held responsible for that. The parking lot is a public area; security there is down to you.”

Steve gave her a curt nod. The use of the unsecured studio was risky for sure… but again that measure of exposure was a vital part of the plan. “Okay,” he said. “Do it.”

“And you give me your word you’ll keep your end of the deal? Give us an exclusive interview once McCann is caught, and credit us with helping you?”

Steve almost laughed, because right then it felt like his word meant precisely nothing. “Yeah. I promise you that,” he said anyway.

Nohea had been easily persuaded in reality, an exclusive interview with a former hostage of the most wanted man in Hawaii proving impossible for her to turn down, even if a condition was that the script was agreed on before they had even started. And that Five-0’s role in arranging said interview wasn’t mentioned….

Steve let out a long breath as Nohea walked back over to Isabelle to start things off.

Isabelle cast him another nervous look. Pale and shaky, clearly still haunted by her ordeal, she kept her arms wrapped around herself protectively, fingers pulling restlessly at the sleeves of the perfectly tailored burgundy Pierre Cardin suit they had picked out for her. Yet she stood tall and upright as the TV camera rolled, as though determined to prove Walker and McCann hadn’t beaten her.

She’d jumped at the chance to help capture the men responsible for what had happened to her father and herself, and to try to prevent the detonation of the weapon her father had designed. She’d slipped easily from INTERPOL’s clutches for the second time, and the thought of how Agent LaRouche would react when she realized what had happened gave Steve a vague feeling of satisfaction. She’d known where Danny was, the whole time. Whatever her motivations, he would always hate her for that. Always.

Mind invariably drawn back to Danny, Steve checked his watch. His partner would be out for a good few hours yet, longer if they made the decision to keep him sedated… and Steve couldn’t help but hope they would. He simply wasn’t ready to face up to the empty promise he’d made. Not only that… he wanted McCann _dead_ before Danny woke so that promise would become moot.

Then another thought struck him and the pit of cold dread in his stomach dropped another few degrees in temperature. How Danny would react if they _did_ kill McCann. He said he _loved_ McCann.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut tight, forcing himself to shelve those thoughts and listen to the French scientist as she parroted the lines they had agreed on beforehand.  

“-it was just really important to me to thank those who rescued me publicly,” she was saying, her voice trembling, but filled with that stubborn determination he had admired in her the previous time he had met her. She reminded him a little of Danny in the strangest of ways.

“Five-0, HPD and INTERPOL. They all played a role and I am forever grateful.” She paused, took a tremulous breath. “And it would have been important to my father to thank them too. He may not have come out of our mutual hell alive, but his suffering is over. Now, _please_ , if anyone watching your show knows where Spenser McCann is… _please_ can they contact the police. The man is a monster. I have the misfortune to know this first hand.”

When Steve opened his eyes again, he saw the French scientist had turned to face the TV camera, using every ounce of her charisma to appeal directly to the thousands who would be watching Hawaii News in two hours’ time.

“Can you tell me what it was like to be McCann’s prisoner?”

Isabelle’s face twisted in anguish in response to the question and Steve’s stomach lurched.

“He is cruel and barbaric. His partner Dylan Walker is no better. To me Walker was worse, but I know they act as one. They deserve no protection or assistance, neither one of them. They… they _hurt_ me, and used me to force my father to do things against his will.”

This time, as she mentioned her father, she reached up to play with that necklace. It was subtle, as though an unconscious move.

It was far from that.

Pushing himself further back into the shadows subconsciously, Steve watched her with a critical eye, knowing full well that her hand movements were choreographed down to the timing of her apparent nervous twisting and fingering of the delicate chain and its cloisonné teardrop charm.  He wholeheartedly approved of what he saw and gave another covert nod that she was on the mark.  It _had_ to look natural.

“I have lost my father,” she said, a single tear sliding down her pale cheek. “I have lost everything. This necklace is all I have left of him.”

Nohea made a sympathetic noise. “It’s beautiful. Was it a gift from him?”

“Yes,” Isabelle nodded. “He gave it to me recently, but I believe its meaning was great to him. The lines are not lines, they are miniscule letters. I had not even noticed this until I was recovering in hospital, so delicate is the engraving. It’s a genetic code, I believe, but for what I do not know. Perhaps it’s mine, or his own! Perhaps it has another meaning altogether. It’s a puzzle, a gift from him to me. We loved puzzles and did them together for fun. I will work this one out in time and I will remember him with the greatest fondness.”

Steve cringed as he heard the words he’d come up with himself. Would McCann really fall for it? Would he think Professor Mercier _might just_ have used the fictitious genetic code on the necklace as the means to activate the chemical weapon? Doubts had been there from the start, but suddenly they seemed black and huge and insurmountable. The plan had always seemed a little flakey, but now it seemed _ridiculous_. Contrived and stupid. What had he been thinking?!

Then he thought of Danny, sagging broken in his arms. And Grace and Charlie, unable to see their father because _Jesus_ … what would that do to them?! And then he thought of a bomb laden with sarin that could kill them all at any moment.

Yeah, so the plan reeked of desperation, but that was because they were fucking desperate. There was a chance, a remote chance, but a chance nonetheless, that this might just draw McCann out. They had to go with it. Steve had nothing else, short of blind dependence on INTERPOL. Nothing.

He had to cling to this. It _had_ to work. He folded his arms across his chest, digging his fingers deep into his own muscles. He _needed_ this to work. If they had lost Danny… revenge was all he had left. Stopping McCann in his tracks was everything. Making Walker _scream_ for raping Danny in the way he had… using Steve’s own voice as he did it… he needed that like he needed _air_.

“That’s so touching,” Nohea was saying with a charming smile. “Well, I wish you luck, Doctor Mercier. What are your plans now, are you staying on Oahu?”

“No. Your island is beautiful and your people kind, but I must return to France with my father’s body. I have a funeral to plan. I fly out in two days.”

That fact, coincidentally true, was key. They needed McCann to feel the pressure of a time constraint so, if he took the bait, he would feel compelled to strike soon… while they were ready for him.

“Are you afraid to be here while McCann and Walker are still on the loose?”

Isabelle hesitated, glancing over her shoulder as though concerned someone might be watching her from the bowels of the deserted TV studio. “Yes,” she said. “But I do not believe I’m of any use to them now. Why should they come after me? I am well protected in any case. INTERPOL kept me safe, but I tired of the limitations their protection brought. Now I have moved on and hired my own private security, people who will be free to travel with me. I am afraid, but I know I am safe enough.”  

Steve nodded his approval when Isabelle caught his eye discretely, her expression outwardly calm, but her voice still trembling as she continued to speak.  The media coverage would report that the interview was done at her own request, out of a need to publicly thank Five-O, HPD and LaRouche’s INTERPOL team before she left the State of Hawaii for good. 

And that was it, she’d done it. She might still be talking, ad-libbing as Nohea kindly questioned her on her welfare, but her message had been delivered. Sow the seed about the code, add a time restriction. Now they had hope McCann or one of his contacts would see the interview on the news, decide to take a chance and move in for the necklace. Set a trap.

Perhaps illogically, there was no doubt in Steve’s mind that somewhere… somehow… Spenser McCann was not only hanging on every spoken word, but that he was inches from whatever monitor he was watching, reading between the lines with an eagle eye, analyzing every word as Isabelle gave her final thanks to everyone who’d saved her and tried in vain to save her father.

She stopped there, seemingly at a loss for words, her face pale and her voice failing. She murmured something about wishing to properly begin to mourn her personal loss in private.  The words were blatantly spoken from the heart. And then Isabelle finally burst into tears.

Finding he was too emotionally drained to react, Steve watched helplessly as Nohea cut the camera and moved in to embrace the French woman, her cameraman looking away respectfully.

And, as he observed the emotional exchange, Steve saw what was fundamentally lacking in the version of Danny they had rescued. Just that. _Emotion_. Devastation at what had been done to him. Shame; misplaced for sure, but so common for rape victims. Realization that he _was_ a victim for that matter. Anger. Shock. Defiance. The way Isabelle was… _that_ was how Danny would been if they had found him sooner. But they had taken too long. It was too late.

A flash of wild blue eyes, so familiar yet so totally foreign, echoed through Steve’s mind again, and he shuddered from head to foot.

A soft touch on his shoulder had Steve gasping out loud and he saw Isabelle’s concerned face right in front of him. He hadn’t even realized he had zoned out again, exhaustion and stress getting the better of him once more.

“Isabelle!” he choked, trying to plaster on something resembling a supportive expression. “Sorry. You-you did really well.”

“Thank you.” She replied flatly, plainly disinterested in flattery. She glanced around the room. “Did you hear from LaRouche? INTERPOL will be searching for me in earnest by now, I am sure.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t,” he said, though it would have been a miracle if he had; his cell was now off and had been left at the hospital, just in case it was being tracked. The entire team were working on burners for this, in fact. But Isabelle didn’t need to know all that. “INTERPOL _will_ be searching though, you’re right. But you have nothing to worry about. I’ll take full responsibility.”

“You have no need. I am not a prisoner, no matter how they made me feel. Always with the questions about the code when I _never_ knew it! Your plan is risky, but I hope perhaps it might work.”

“It is risky,” Steve agreed. “But I’ll do my best to keep you safe. I promise you that. Duke will take you somewhere you’ll be well protected. I don’t intend to expose you to unnecessary danger.”

“And Kono?”

Steve blinked a couple of times, because no, he didn’t want to expose Kono to this any more than anyone else. But it had to be done. “Kono is Five-0,” he said. “She can handle herself as well as any of us.”

The scientist nodded in understanding, then shivered violently.

“Thank you for taking this risk for us, Isabelle.”

She smiled sadly. “It is nothing, Commander. If I am honest, I feel I have nothing left to lose.”

Steve stared at her, his paper-thin façade dropping and his expression darkening once more. He nodded somberly. “No, I don’t think any of us have.”

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Parked up in the far corner of the parking lot, Steve and Chin watched the studio fire exit in silence from the relative safety of a van with blacked out windows.

Thirty minutes on the nose after Hawaii News aired Isabelle’s interview, passing it off as a live broadcast as promised, the door opened. Two large men ushered a slight female, clad in a perfectly tailored burgundy Pierre Cardin suit, into the waiting limo. Her head was down, her silk headscarf pulled forward far enough to conceal her face. Large sunglasses hid her eyes. Her necklace sparkled in the sun.

The men both wore dark suits and aviator shades; they looked for all intents and purposes like stereotypical bodyguards for hire. With luck, no one would realize they were in reality Navy SEALS; Jack and Gutches no less. And, with more luck still, no one would realize ‘Isabelle’ was in fact Kono Kalakaua, the real Isabelle Mercier having been transported a full hour before the interview aired to the Grovers’ home to be protected by the Five-0 approved detail already in position there.

Gutches threw a casual nod towards the van as he climbed in the driver’s seat of the luxury car. The limo pulled away.  

The bait was laid… now would McCann take it? Would he be drawn into their trap?

‘Isabelle’ and her ‘private security team’ were heading for an upmarket hotel in Waikiki where the foundations of the trap had already been set. A handful of trusted HPD were in place at the hotel, forming a loose, discrete cordon around the suite booked in Isabelle Mercier’s name. They were occupying the surrounding rooms, and spaces in buildings overlooking the hotel on all sides. Covert cameras had been rigged too, in the suite and the hall outside.

They had been stretched, what with security details having to stay at Tripler, at Rachel’s house, at Lou’s, but, they hoped, there were enough people for the net to be ready to close on McCann if he moved in for ‘Isabelle’ and that necklace. Ready take him and his men, alive or dead.

“It’s going to work. Maybe. But we have to be _careful_ ,” Steve muttered, both to Chin and to their colleagues in the limo who would be listening on their earpieces.  

He was preaching to the choir; they all knew _exactly_ how wrong this could go. Yet he felt more than obligated to repeat himself numerous times. 

It _was_ a stupid plan on many levels, and the fact that Steve couldn’t hear Danny’s voice anymore, real or imagined, telling him that exact thing only served to fuel the blood-boiling hatred for McCann that burned inside him.  Inhaling deeply, Steve strived hard to temper his thoughts and focus; he would not put up with failure this time. 

“We need to take every precaution. Stick to the plan and assume you’re always being watched,” he said quietly.

Despite rudely shoving his emotions down, Steve suddenly felt light-headed. He’d just used Leon’s own words to him and the resulting eerie feeling of intense deja-vu was overwhelming.  He blinked dizzily, nearly losing his balance and needing to put a hand against the side of the van to steady himself. Fuck. He didn’t need this.

He glanced at Chin and sighed with relief. What had just happened seemed blatantly obvious to Steve, but for once his teammate didn’t seemed to have noticed. His attention was fixed on the moving car. Steve shook the spell off as Chin nodded in agreement without turning his head.

Steve’s face was grim as he watched the limo turn out of the parking lot and disappear from sight.

Hours ago, before Danny’s big breakdown, he’d planned and plotted this whole scheme out with Wade in the unlikely sanctity of the mensroom. But the plan hadn’t been shared with the team until _after_ Danny had held a gun on Steve to try to force his best friend to help return him to his tormentor.  So shaken was Steve after that, it had been _Wade_ who had briefed the team in the end, as they stood together outside Danny’s room, staring helplessly at the curtain closed around their friend’s bed. As Wade spoke, outlining their idea, Steve’s hands had still been trembling and his vision still blurred, his mind locked in that moment, still seeing wild eyes and a wavering gun.

The timing had been perfect in a strange kind of way. With the long-term damage that McCann had done to Danny now made apparent in dramatic fashion, a chance to try to get the bastard _now_ was exactly what they all needed.

Of all of them, only Lou remained at Tripler. “ _I’m staying with our boy_ ,” he had announced calmly just as Steve had finally heaved in a deep breath of air in order to request that very thing. “ _I know that he’s only spoken to Steve since he came round for real, but Danny knows me. If he wakes up before you get back, even if he’s just staring at that damned wall, he seems to at least accept that I’m there with him. It might help keep him calm. I should be there while you can’t be, Steve. You… you gotta do this.”_

Steve had managed to choke out his thanks. And he truly meant the small smile he had offered the older man because he had been right. While Steve respected the man’s experience and skill set when it came to dealing with bad guys, Danny needed him, too. More.

Now they had to bide their time. Hope McCann was on the hunt. Hope he would have people nearby, people who would have moved towards the Hawaii News studios the instant McCann became aware of the interview, and who would now follow that limo… thereby drawing McCann into the trap.

Steve and Chin didn’t follow the limo… if McCann realised the vehicle was being surveilled by law enforcement, he would _know_ it was a trap. It couldn’t happen- McCann could not be permitted to even smell a hint of a trap. They had to be smart. The limo’s route was pre-designed- they knew exactly where it was- and it was navigating slowly in the hope of attracting a tail.

Steve, in contrast, when he finally climbed into the driver’s seat of the van and pulled away, used every counter-surveillance measure in the book; doubling back, circling, jumping the odd red light; to ensure the van wasn’t followed as he and Chin moved towards the hotel. He allowed himself the luxury of crossing paths with the limo twice. Both times he and Chin logged every face, every vehicle in the vicinity in search of anything that didn’t fit. In search of someone who might be following ‘Isabelle’.

Then he pulled ahead, racing towards the hotel by a roundabout route. Still, they would beat the limo there by some ten minutes if all went to plan. Plenty of time to hide the van and secrete themselves in their assigned hiding places in ‘Isabelle’s’ suite before any of McCann’s people might discover the limo’s destination.

Chin, seated beside him, was pensive and he shook his head worriedly. “Isabelle has worn that necklace since day one,” he said. “What if this doesn’t work, Steve? Why would McCann believe any of this?”

“You know what?” Steve said, eyes scanning determinedly.  “It _might_ work… because this is something he’d do himself.  Hiding something in plain sight; believing that people won’t see the obvious even when it’s right under their very noses. He’s bold, arrogant, over-confident… but he won’t think that we’d play the same damned sort of game that he does.  Plus, if he still needs the code, he isn’t going to be able to walk away from this. He’ll need to _know_ one way or the other. If he still needs the code, then he simply  _has_  to act.”

“And if he doesn’t still need the code? If his experts have cracked it already?”

Steve flexed his jaw muscles. “If he doesn’t need the code… chances are we’re all about to die anyway.”

That was the horrific truth.

They had to pray he did still need that code. But was there any way McCann would suspect this was a trap? They’d been so careful it seemed unlikely he would catch wind of it. Steve would have been feeling confident if it had been any other bad guy they were dealing with. Wo Fat, the Hesse brothers, Gabriel Waincroft. Any of them. But not with McCann. In fact, the closer they got to their destination, the more Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that McCann _would_ know. That no matter how careful they were being, that the man would learn of the trap. 

He gritted his teeth, berating himself softly. No, that was the effect of seeing Professor Mercier, and Danny. McCann’s grip on them had been and was so complete it was rubbing off on him. Steve couldn’t afford to let McCann’s mind games affect him too. 

“You guys pick up a tail yet?” he murmured into his radio.

“Negative.”

Steve nodded in silence at Gutches’ reply. It wasn’t necessarily a bad sign. That was to be expected, McCann was too good to be seen easily.

But what if it _didn’t_ work? What would their next move be? Those doubts loomed large again as the minutes ticked by.

But then something strange happened. Out of nowhere, the coldest chill ran down Steve’s spine, like someone had walked across his grave. Someone fundamentally evil.

McCann was coming. _He could feel it_.

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By IC and Swifters

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

“Kono… how you holding up?” 

Steve could hear the snort through his earpiece clear as day.

“ _Trying to sleep, boss_ ,” came the whispered reply, deadpan. “ _Keep it down_.”

He smiled grimly, brain conjuring a no-doubt accurate image of Kono tucked snugly into the sumptuous bed of the master suite, blankets pulled right over her as she feigned sleep… lithe body carefully positioned to conceal her handgun.

Jacks and Gutches were literally scant feet away from her, albeit through a layer of plasterboard. They were reclining on chairs, playing cards in the living area outside the bedroom door; passing for bored protection on low-risk assignment with ease. Switched off and vulnerable to attack, an opportunity impossible for McCann to miss if he took their bait.  

Steve and Chin were in a neighboring suite, the only light in the darkened room emanating from the tablet in Steve’s grip. He watched the CCTV feed on it of the corridor outside the rooms, stony-faced and silent.

The blinds were drawn so they shouldn’t have to hide really, yet both of them were crouched in the shadows at the edge of the room, motionless. Steve could feel eyes in the back of his head as though McCann could somehow see him anyway, through the wall from the hall without showing on the CCTV. Maybe it was just pure adrenaline and hate messing with his head, but McCann was evil personified and he’d proven his skill in subterfuge time and again.

Fucking McCann and his fucking omnipotent presence.

The silent vibration of the burner cell in his pocket had Steve growling in annoyance; they were operating on a secure channel, none of the tiny list of individuals who had that number should be calling him. Direst emergencies only, he’d made that _clear_.

He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was _Lou._ Lou shouldn’t be calling. Lou was with _Danny._ Danny wasn’t due to wake up for three hours yet, _minimum_. Steve’s stomach clenched tight. But what if he _had_ woken up, what if he was fighting to leave again, what if he’d got hold of a gun again in spite of Steve’s terse instruction for no armed persons to go _near_ him, no matter what? Or… what if something had gone wrong, what if Danny had taken a turn for the worse, what if….”

“Steve, just answer your damn phone or I’ll do it for you.”

Steve glanced up to see Chin’s face, stoic and guarded. He nodded hurriedly, passing the tablet to his friend even as he hit the green symbol on his cell. Chin could keep watch, check the coast was clear while he found out what was going on.

“Lou,” he hissed quietly. “What’s happening? Danny okay?”

 _“Yeah, fine. He’s out, man,”_ Lou replied, and Steve thought he might pass out from the relief of it. He pressed a hand to his face as he listened on.

“ _He started to come round an hour ago because he’s as stubborn as he ever was, but they decided they_ would _keep him on a low level of sedation till they’re not needin' the central line anymore at least. He coulda really hurt himself yanking that thing out the way he did, freaked the damn doc out almost as much as he freaked us out! So yeah, he’s okay. He’s sleepin'. That ain’t why I called. Listen Steve, LaRouche is here at Tripler looking for you. She’s on the warpath. Has her suspicions we encouraged Mercier to escape.”_

Steve groaned silently to himself. Still, it was only ever going to be a matter of time before the INTERPOL agent joined the dots. Still, a few more hours would have been nice; they had enough going on without INTERPOL causing a ruckus and drawing attention to what was going on. “Shit,” he said. “What did you say?”

_“What could I say?! Denied it all. Told her to go away and concentrate on finding that damn device.”_

“Good. Where is she now?”

_“Still here, somewhere. Looking for you. She said she needed to see you not-that-surprisingly. I sent her on a wild goose chase saying you were off speaking to some specialist or some damn thing. She’s only going to buy it for so long though, bud. She’ll be right back here yellin’ in my ear again before you know it.”_

“Sorry, Lou,” Steve sighed. “Thanks for dealing with her. Hopefully we won’t need too long before we get things wrapped up here. Then she can do what she wants.”

_“Well… maybe not. Steve… there’s something else. She wants to move Danny.”_

Steve could scarcely believe his ears. “What?! She wants to do _what_?!”

_“Well, she says INTERPOL have been searching the property on Molokai and whatever they’ve found has convinced her McCann is properly obsessed. He’s not going to walk away. LaRouche wants him somewhere she considers safe.  She wants to move him to the INTERPOL medical facility where they had Mercier.”_

Steve snorted. “The one Isabelle escaped from? Twice?! Anyway, he _is_ safe right where he is.”

“ _Yeah, well. She trusts us about as far as-as I can throw Kamekona. I guess she’s just acting in Danny’s best interests. Still, I said she’d take him over my dead body.”_

“Good! Thanks, Lou. That can’t happen. No way.”

There was a protracted silence and the warning bells ringing in Steve’s head sounded louder still.

 _“But Steve… she’s talking about going to the governor to make it happen_.”

“ _Shit_!” How had he not seen that coming?! The manipulative bitch! Steve’s head whirred, stress thrumming through him. He couldn’t lose control of Danny’s welfare, his protection. _Him_. Not again. It simply could _not_ happen. “Right, listen to me Lou, you call the governor, get in there before she does. Explain Danny’s safest right where he is. Just stop anything happening before we get our hands on McCann, _please_.”

 _“You got it. I’ll do my best. Good luck, McGarrett. You… you smack that bastard one from me when you get him, you hear me?_ ”

As Lou hung up, Steve shook his head. Why? Danny had been fine where he was, and LaRouche had never shown the slightest concern for him before! Why the sudden interest in his welfare?! What could they possibly have found on Molokai to make her suddenly give a shit?

Then his blood ran cold. Could INTERPOL be planning to use Danny the way he had used Isabelle? Was he intended to be bait for a trap? Or was it something else entirely?

It didn’t matter. Either way, Steve would give his partner up for no one. They just needed to get this fucking well over with so no one had to worry about catching McCann, or baiting traps, or protecting anyone any more. Enough was enough.

It was time for McCann to make his move.

Tucking his cell back in his pocket, Steve virtually snatched the tablet from Chin’s hands, desperate to see something, some sign of a bad guy trying to sneak closer to the suite and the carefully laid trap. The slightest movement, the smallest thing out of place. Then a niggle of doubt pulled at the back of his mind, because since when did McCann ever do the expected? The understated?

“All stations, report,” he barked suddenly into his radio.

_“West Suite clear”_

_“East Suite clear”_

_“Outer Team One clear”_

_“Outer Team Two clear,”_ came a flurry of replies, their order sequence pre-determined.

There was a pause.

“Outer Team Three? Report?”

Silence. Static across the airways.

“Outer Team Three?”

Steve exchanged a fearful look with Chin. Outer Team Three; those HPD officers were stationed across the road in a building overlooking the north side of the hotel and the neighboring apartment block. No response. Why wouldn’t they respond? Steve stood up and took a long stride towards the window to look across towards their post.

He got no further. The distant ‘boom’ of a massive explosion halted him in his tracks, the floor shuddering beneath his feet as the shockwave passed through the building. Alarms blared outside, screaming rose from the streets below.

Steve ran to the window and peered into the darkness, pressing his forehead to the glass to look downwards. Far beneath them, people were running in panic. He turned to Chin, eyes wide in the darkness, because Jesus Christ, did McCann already have the fucking code?! Was this _it_?! Were they all going to die?!  

“Report!!” he shouted, frantic. “Anyone got eyes on what’s happening?!”

As he spoke a second explosion sounded, the concussive shockwave rattling the very structure of the hotel again, the windows shaking in their frames.

“Report,” Steve said. “Where? Jacks? You got eyes? People are running away from the _north_ side of the building, can you get a visual from the other side of your suite?”

“ _Incendiaries!_ ” came the reply after a moment.  _“It’s across the street… small market. It’ll have been closed at this time but… Shit!!! The place is engulfed and … dammit! There’s apartments above! Civilians are compromised … the whole building is on fire!”_

“Just incendiaries? Are you sure? You better be fucking sure!” Steve found himself yelling.

“ _What do you…_?” Jacks began, but then clearly registered the horrific level of threat Steve was concerned about. “ _Oh… shit. The chemical weapon! Hold on.”_   Jacks was subdued, but there was an urgent tone to his voice bespoke his distraction. There was a brief pause.

Steve held his breath, held Chin’s fearful gaze.

“ _Negative, it’s not the weapon_ ,” Jacks finally responded. “ _I see people running, I don’t see anyone suffering any… symptoms. Two explosions … timed. That wouldn’t make sense based on what we’ve been told about Mercier’s chemical weapon. No, Steve. These are clearly diversionary tactics … Wade is right. McCann needs the code and this is all part of the setup._ ” 

“Right!” Steve whispered, faint with relief, acknowledging Chin’s intent to call 911 with a slight nod. 

It _had_ to be a diversion in that case, in which case if they could be sure of one thing it was that McCann was coming… and _now_.

Breaths coming fast, Steve kept his eyes trained on the CCTV feed even as Chin spoke on the phone to the 911 operator, concentration absolute… okay, nearly absolute. Distant screams for help faintly reached their ears from the blazing apartment buildings. _Shit_. 

 _“Fire’s big,”_ Jacks warned them softly. _“Civilians … I can see at least three trapped in the apartments.”_

 _“Boss?”_  Kono murmured. _“What do we do?”_

 _“Stay positions!”_  Gutches and Steve ordered at the same time as faint shouts and screams continually echoed up to them from the city street, one man almost drowning out the other. Fuck, fuck, fuck… but approaching sirens told of emergency services minutes away. They had to _hold_.

“Civilians … this bastard has no remorse … no one’s safe from him,” Chin cursed this time, his tone frustrated and angry, apparently wanting to be in two places at once. 

“We knew that, we have to hold, people… that’s why we’ve got to get him. Permanently,” Steve murmured angrily. “Now radio silence, _hold positions_.”

But he could feel the darkness inside him deepening as the cries for help increased outside on the street.  He had to admit that he hesitated too when the glow of the fire illuminated the distant window which he could just see from where he crouched, hidden. The yellow and orange was vivid and almost alive as it coursed across the glass; the screams for help an eerie backdrop.

But where was McCann? His diversion had played out two… three… four minutes ago, why hadn’t he struck right away?!

“ _Commander, this is Outer Team Two_ ,” came a sudden hiss in Steve’s earpiece.  _“That second blast was underground … took out the manhole cover and part of the sewer system on the cross street. The road is impassable and first responders are blocked; there’s no way for them to get in! We… we can access the rear fire escape of the building from here. I think we can get up to help the people who are trapped. We’ve got a couple of extinguishers. It would be something… right?”_

“Shit!” Steve exclaimed under his breath. That was why McCann was waiting. Stretching their resolve, waiting for their carefully-constructed web to begin to disintegrate. Whether he knew about the trap or was just being cautious, Steve knew McCann would have a plan and then a back-up plan for that plan, maybe a back-up for that. It was like some hideous game of chess.

The mercenary was certainly no fool at all and dividing and conquering any sized team was a definite pro-move.  In this case though, he’d involved innocent lives … probably kids sleeping in the middle of the night. Mothers and fathers; elderly. 

Completely innocent people with no avenue for escape. 

Another scream, a desperate plea for help pierced the air and Steve broke. “Go,” Steve growled out to the outer team, knowing it would leave them blind to the east. Their operation was intentionally a small one and sacrificing one team of observers was a huge loss. Add to that the as yet unexplained loss of the team overlooking the north of the building… McCann was turning the tables neatly.  

He  _needed_  to get Spenser McCann. A stabbing burst of rage tore into his chest. _Enough_ , McCann had done _enough_ damage.

Like someone up above was finally listening to his prayers, the instant that thought passed through his mind, the lights in the hallway flickered and died. Steve’s lips curled, his adrenaline ramping up to off-the scale.

“ _Commander? Outer Team One. Looks like someone pulled the plug on the power. Hotel’s in darkness, top to bottom._ ”

“Roger that,” Steve responded. “All teams stand by, he’s coming.”

He laid down the tablet and tightening on the butt of his gun. “Chin? You ready to move out? Soon as we hear movement outside.”

Chin patted his shoulder solidly. Of course Chin was with him. There were few other people Steve would rather have by his side.

The tension was hideous. The weighty, suffocating feeling of approaching evil. The sensation that they weren’t closing a trap on McCann at all, that he was closing one on _them_.

“No. We can take him. I _want_ him,” Steve muttered to himself, not even realizing he was trembling with anticipation and nerves until he felt Chin’s steadying hand on his arm.

They didn’t have long to wait. A soft ‘creak’, a shuffling noise moving closer, closer… then right outside their door.

Unable to contain himself, Steve launched himself, uttering an unholy roar. He tore the door open and rolled out low into the hall. A dark figure lurched backwards away from him, staggering, and Steve didn’t hesitate to follow. He tackled low, snagging the struggling figure in a forward choke hold and they fell backwards, Steve pinning his foe to the ground, bodyweight on his spasming neck. The resultant ‘gurgle’ was nothing short of delightful, but Steve’s focus was instantly elsewhere, searching for the next wave of attack.

The hall was silent. Where were the rest of them?

Frowning in consternation, Steve stared blindly down at his captive. “Chin? You got a flashlight?”

And as the thin beam illuminated the face beneath him, Steve met wide, terror-filled eyes and swore vehemently.

Not McCann, not Walker, and he’d already known that because his foe had been too small. But this was no mercenary, and Steve recognized the petrified face of one of the busboys a fraction before he registered that the young man’s hands, pinned between their two bodies, were joined together and holding something tight.

Steve stared at him, then looked downwards, lifting his body slightly.

“I-I’m supposed to give this to you,” the young man stuttered, beginning to open his hands. “Or… or he said he’ll kill my mom.”

Steve’s jaw dropped.

The busboy was holding a fucking _grenade_! Another diversion, another fucking diversion. Where was McCann!! Another fucking problem to deal with, but he had to keep his focus, had to be ready for anything!

Yet somehow, he wasn’t ready for the young man’s next words.

“A-and he said to ask you… if you’re here, who’s looking after Danno?”

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny fought nameless horrors in his sleep. Snapshots of moments in time assaulted him. Pain. Fear. Degradation. _Steve_ holding him down. But then something split the darkness. A shaft of light amongst the nightmare images. A _scent_ ; musky and spiced. Powerful. _Spense_. Spense was near. Danny could _smell_ him. He fought the treacle-like mire the sedatives had bedded him in and tried to understand.

Steve… Steve had _promised_ he would help Danny get back to Spense, and Steve _always_ kept his promises to Danny. Had it happened already?! An instant of shocked relief later, Danny’s heart lurched, his stomach turned, his body and mind having absolutely no idea what he really wanted for long, nauseating moments.

Then he remembered Spense’s face, kind and strong, his lips whispering love and protection for him, for his family. Yes, that was what Danny needed. He belonged beside him. Spense was near now, and that was what Danny needed to happen.

The echoes of his nightmares quieted in his mind; the flare of terror eased. Eyes closed as his drug-assisted deep sleep was slowly robbed from him, Danny breathed in deeply. Antiseptic. Bleach. He was still in the hospital.  Yet … and he breathed in again seeking it now. That aftershave. That dominant male musk …  _Spense was there_. 

_Danny… you’ve been bad._

He shuddered with fear, although he knew on some level the words were just inside his head. But he _had_ been bad. He had let himself be taken away. He would get on his knees and apologize. He might be punished, and he would deserve it. Then… then Spense would make everything okay again.

“Spense?” Danny whispered tiredly, inhaling sharply again, forcing his eyes open with a herculean effort as he clearly caught a hint of Spense’s aftershave. It wafted over the bed, leeched into the air above him, settling in his nostrils.

Bleary eyed, Danny turned his head towards the door, fully expecting to see the mercenary. He blinked, fighting to focus blurred vision… and then moaned softly in distress.

Spense wasn’t there at all.

Danny frowned in utter confusion as he took in Lou Grover, standing in the doorway of his room, blocking it completely as he argued in hushed tones with the slight figure of a woman. Trim and neat, perhaps in her forties,  she was immaculately dressed in a suit. She looked familiar to him but he couldn’t place her. His mind turned over slowly, so slowly... then something clicked. INTERPOL? Was she INTERPOL?

He had to be dreaming, it was as simple as that. As he watched the scene distantly, as though on a TV, the woman's eyes flicked to meet his own, widening when she saw he was something approaching conscious.

There was something in her expression. Something he couldn’t define but at the same time understood completely without even knowing why. Determination? Recklessness. _Fear_.

And then he realized with a sinking heart where the scent was coming from. It wasn’t Spense. It was _her_. Sleep pulled at him again, and he didn’t fight it this time, because Spense wasn’t here. Steve hadn’t kept his word, not yet anyway, and the disappointment and hurt that knowledge brought with it flowed strong.

Still, that familiar scent hung thick in the air and he inhaled again, let it soothe him, even as he tried vaguely to puzzle out why an INTERPOL agent might smell just like Danny’s master.

 

 

 

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 


	33. Chapter 33

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Time did something strange, freezing the moment and stretching it out as the ashes of the carefully-conceived plan scattered into nothing short of complete and total chaos.

A pitch black corridor, a sole dancing beam of light illuminating shadows and imagined figures. Fire appliances and squad cars and ambulances screaming and wailing outside. Humans doing the same; distant but somehow deafening at the same time. And a thinly veiled threat for the safety of Steve’s best friend delivered by a terrified young man… a young man who was holding a grenade tight, tight, tight as he shook on the floor, still partially pinned by Steve’s heavy limbs.

That threat that chilled Steve to the very bone. Had McCann gone after _Danny_? While they were _here_ … would he really have the balls to move in for Danny at _Tripler_?

_“Steve? We heard movement. You need back-up out there? Sit-rep please!”_

Gutches’ hushed voice over the comm link yanked Steve back into real-time and he gritted his teeth, fought for that laser focus that had somehow hauled him through every deadly situation he’d ever been faced with in something approaching one piece.

“Negative, hold position. We have a live grenade out here, but the situation is under control. Repeat, maintain positions,” he barked, then turned his face towards Chin, blinking in the beam of the older man’s flashlight.

“Chin, quick, go check the hall and the stairs. See if they’re coming that way. Watch your back!”

Chin nodded brusquely, sprinting off without hesitation. The light bobbed up and down in time with the great strides he took.

Steve and the busboy were plunged into darkness. One hand moving to cover the boys’, to stabilise his grip on the grenade, Steve pulled his own flashlight from his TAC vest and flicked it on then, finally, turned his full attention to the trembling figure on the floor. Wide, watery eyes looked up at him.

“Okay- okay,” he gasped, “Here’s what we’re gonna do, I’m gonna get up off you, nice and slow, and you’re gonna keep a good hold of this thing until I can take it from you safely. Everything is gonna be juuuuust fine. Understand?”

The boy nodded abruptly.

Careful, careful, Steve pushed himself up on his knees then into a crouch, never moving his hand from the threat.

“Stay down, take it easy. Hey, you got a name?” he said.

“A-Adam,” came the wavering reply.

Steve faked a reassuring smile. “Adam, eh? One of my team is married to an Adam and he’s as tough as they come. Bet you can be brave just like him, right? Now you keep hold of this till I say, yeah?”

Adam nodded. One fat tear slid down his face into his hair, its trail glistening in the darkness. Jesus, he really did look young. Still a teenager, if Steve had to guess.

“Steve? Stairs are clear.”

Steve looked up to see Chin jogging back towards them already.

“Where the hell are they then?” Steve exclaimed. He looked down at the boy, then threw every effort into mustering something approaching a soft, encouraging tone. “Listen, Adam, do you know where they are? The people who did this to you?”

More tears from those wide eyes and teeth clenching hard on a quivering lip told them easily that Adam had been threatened into silence. Hell, he’d been threatened into near-suicide.

“It’s okay,” Steve soothed automatically. “We’ll keep you safe.”

Adam shook his head. “But my… my mom?”

Steve cursed silently under his breath. “Do they have her?”

Another shake of the head. “But they said they know where she is,” he exclaimed, frantic. “He said they would go shoot her in the head if I didn’t _do_ this. They were crazy! And now I haven’t… I didn’t…. You’re still _alive_! They’re gonna….”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve whispered, deadly earnest, praying to God that McCann had picked on Adam as an opportunistic theatrical embellishment to his basic plan, and the threat to the mother was not actually in place. “It’s not going to happen,” he pledged, trying for a convincing tone again. “I’ll protect her, I’ll protect you. Now where are they?”

And the boy plainly didn’t know how little that pledge seemed to mean right then, because he nodded shakily, then pointed… up.

Simultaneously, Steve and Chin looked to the plain white ceiling, then at each other. _Up?_ They were already on the top floor. Up!? The roof?!

It all fell into place; the diversion, removing the observation teams on the north and east sides so they could drop down undetected! Had they scaled the fucking building?! McCann really was insane! And now another diversion in the building, designed to eliminate security outside the suite… but when would they make their next move?

There was no time to speculate, he had to warn everyone. “All teams, I think they’re on the….”

The sound of smashing glass from inside Kono’s suite cut him off, followed instantly by the muffled noise of a struggle from inside.

It was too late. The _windows_ ; the crazy fuckers had come in the _windows_ all the way up _here_!

Steve swore and, at the same instant, Adam cried out in terror. Petrified, all reason absent from his visage, the boy lurched to his feet and thrust his hands, grenade and all, towards Steve. “Take it, _please_ ,” he choked fearfully.

Steve grabbed the offending object the moment Adam’s trembling fingers let it slip away. But he was an instant too slow in gaining a decent purchase on the thing. 

He swore loudly as the safety lever clicked off.

“Shit! Chin, get down!” Steve yelled, simply launching the grenade down the corridor away from them, then throwing himself back onto the hapless boy, knocking him to the ground and covering his body with his own.

The explosion that followed felt fucking enormous in the enclosed space, like a physical full-body punch that left Steve’s ears ringing, left him clutching his head, left the frantic radio traffic on their comm links indecipherable for long moments.

He shook his head, hard, and the sound resolved into words. _“-at least six hostiles in here and there was just an explosion outside the room! We need back up! Now!! Shit, there’s two more coming in! West team; make your way to the roof, they’re coming down from there! Stop them from sending more back-up!_ _Steve? Sit-rep?! We need you!"_

Gutches! It was Gutches. And his decisions were sound, but with the closest team heading upwards, and the chaos on the street outside to hold up their remaining outer team, Steve and Chin needed to get the hell in there!

“Shit!” he exclaimed. “Chin? You good? Chin?”

“Never better, come on! Let’s get them!” Chin growled out.

Grunting with the effort, limbs complaining bitterly, Steve pushed himself upright, grabbing the busboy’s arm and hauling him to his feet. “You… run. GO! Find somewhere to hide, we’ll come get you after.”

As young Adam retreated into the swirling mist of dust and debris at full pelt, Steve moved to stand by the side of the suite door, Chin mirroring his actions precisely.

Steve held one hand aloft and counted down from three.

One powerful blow from his boot and the wood was pulverised.  

Inside in the dark was a flurry of mayhem, of ferocious hand-to-hand combat between indistinguishable figures and glints of light off metal blades. Sweeping his beam round the room to work out who the hell was who, Steve clocked three unfamiliar figures amongst the sea of broken glass left behind by the insane method of entry McCann’s team had selected.

Large and male and clad in black, they were wrestling with the suited forms of Jacks and Gutches.

Two more lay unmoving on the ground; the SEALS had drawn first blood.

The sounds of a further violent struggle came from within the master bedroom, the door of which hung now at a crazy angle, knocked off its hinges.

“Chin! Back up Kono, _now_! ” Steve yelled, then waded in to the melee without further hesitation, unable to fire his weapon for fear of striking the wrong people. Two men had hold of Gutches, one restraining him, one lashing at him with a knife that he was barely managing to fend off with wildly swinging kicks.

Steve caught a glimpse of the outline of a face, saw an angular silhouette which didn’t quite fit. Night vision goggles! He cursed. No wonder they had they had the upper hand now! At least they hadn’t just come in shooting. Maybe they hadn’t been expecting the level of resistance they had actually met.

He sneered in anger as he focused on the knifeman attacking Gutches, the largest of the trio. His back was to Steve, so the Five-0 Commander simply picked up a chair and smashed it on the man’s head, not pausing for the instant it would have taken to watch him crumple to the floor, but instead launching a powerful punch at the face of the man holding Gutches.

The hot, wet crunch that resulted felt fucking amazing and, as Gutches lurched free, staggering immediately towards the fiercely fighting figures of Jacks and the last of the attackers still standing in the room, Steve dropped to the floor on top of the bubbling, choking target of his last punch.

He grasped the other man by the throat, yanking off the night vision goggles and the balaclava beneath, and shining his flashlight right in the face of the goon. He didn’t recognize him. A random member of McCann’s moral-free pack of paid attack-dogs.

“Where is he?” he growled. “Where’s McCann?”

The man grinned through bloody teeth, and shrugged. “I don’t know, pig. Try in there.” He nodded towards the master suite, where the sound of fighting still raged.

Steve’s stomach twisted violently, McCann… here? He might actually be here? Steve could hardly dare to hope the plan had worked that well, that McCann wasn’t on his way to try to get to Danny at all. His adrenaline spiked, fire roaring through his veins. The man who had done all this… here? Steve was going to kill him, he was going to fucking kill him!

One more brutal punch had the man beneath him rendered benign.

Steve got to his feet, drew his gun and took a long stride towards the master suite, leaving Jacks and Gutches to handle their man. He was focused solely on reaching that one room now, but he barely reached the doorway. Something hit him from behind out of nowhere, a person who materialized from the shadows, who must have been _watching_. Big and powerful, built just like Steve.

Something rushed through Steve’s body like a shockwave as the two made contact; a rush of primal recognition. This person he _knew_ … McCann?!

Steve had time for that passing thought and no more before his head struck the wall, his gun and flashlight skittering from his hands and away across the floor. Unable to immediately regain his equilibrium, he couldn’t twist around to raise his hands and block as the shadowed silhouette struck out.

A fist hammered into the side of his head. 

Steve’s cheekbone hit the hard tile of the floor, instantly splitting the skin, his teeth slicing into his own tongue.

Grappling through the disorienting blur, Steve somehow managed to get onto his back, then fought his crouched attacker hard. He heard an accompanying growl which came with another powerful strike to his head. It was a sound which was both thick and full of hatred. The room spun and he fought desperately for consciousness.

“McGarrett,” that voice snarled as Steve’s hair was fisted tightly between strong fingers. Strong legs wrapped around him as the man straddled his waist. 

Steve pushed back the soft flashing blackness that threatened to encompass him, because this could be it, this could be his chance to get the bastard who had taken Danny! He couldn’t let himself get overpowered like this!

“McCann?” he grunted.

A sharp laugh followed, then Steve caught a flash of light moving sharply towards him. The knife! Steve grunted as he heaved upwards desperately to grab at the man’s wrist, stilling the hand which held the long, slender blade while leveling a solid punch to the strong jaw.

There was a sly chuckle as he lashed out and the mocking tone fed into Steve’s anger. But he’d been surprised, stunned, and _weakened_ apparently, because his punch had no effect whatsoever. Either that or this man was _freakishly_ strong.

“Guess again, McGarrett,” the man chuckled nastily as he leaned forward, throwing his weight into his knife hand. 

Steve held that wrist with all his might.

Another wicked laugh, and the man pulled an unexpected move. He reared up, yanking free of Steve’s grip… then moved his hand to his own face.

Slowly, deliberately, he pulled off his goggles and balaclava, then stared down at Steve, features shadowed in the diffuse beam of the discarded flashlight… yet instantly recognizable.

Steve gasped in surprise.

It wasn’t McCann at all.

 _It was Dylan_   _Walker_.

Dylan Walker, who had raped Danny in Steve’s name, who had made Danny think _he_ had done those terrible things to him.

“You son of a bitch!” Steve hissed, and he was trembling now, trembling with rage and hate, vision tunnelling onto that one loathed face.

And that had to be what Walker was going for, because the tricky bastard took full advantage of his distraction. He slashed downwards with the knife again but this time lower, much lower than Steve was expecting. 

He tried to react in time, tried to grab that wrist again.

He missed, and rolled desperately, fighting to miss the worst of the blade’s damage even while pinned under Walker’s weight.

At the apex of Steve’s waistline, just below the line of his tack vest, the knife slashed though his skin.  The resultant pain was excruciatingly sharp, debilitating, and Steve momentarily whited out until adrenaline fueled his rage.

He couldn’t be beaten. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to win this fight _, for Danny._

As he rolled he lashed out, striking at the bicep of that knife bearing arm with all his might, ignoring arms and fingers which wanted to remain lax and numb. He was aiming for a cluster of nerves and he hit it square on.

A satisfying cry of pain and the knife skittered to the floor. Bucking upwards violently, Steve growled in kind as he unseated the man from his body, his hands fisting to finally come up and connect with the crazed man's cheekbone.  It was a sloppy hit but it did the job, his foe slumping to the side and rolling away from him, fumbling for his knife.

Steve lurched to his feet, pain lancing through his abdomen and he blanked it, drawing his own combat knife, fingers curling tight around the hilt. He was breathing hard, his fury keeping him going as he crouched back down at the ready.

“Steve? You got this?”

Jacks was shouting from the other side of the room, the sound echoing through the comm link. The man he and Gutches had been battling had no doubt finally been dispatched. He meant well for sure, but this one was Steve’s.

“Go!” Steve yelled, never looking away from his adversary. “Help Chin and Kono!”

A smile curled across Walker’s cold, handsome features. He was toying with Steve,  _enjoying_ this. Wanting to extend their one-on-one fight, ready to strike again. 

And his knife was back in his hand.

Any residual lassitude fell away at once when Steve met those evil black eyes. All Steve could think of was …  _Danny_ … and what the evil Second had done to his best friend.  How he’d done it -  _how he’d used Steve to do it -_  and the terrified shell which he’d left in his wake.

“What’s the matter, McGarrett?” Walker purred, his eyes alight with a perverse excitement. “Life too stressful for you right now? Having trouble with our  _pet_?”

With those goading words, all rational thought abandoned Steve and taking Walker  _alive, allowing_ him to live, simply did not seem like a legitimate option.

It was like Walker was reading his mind, that sneering smile growing by the second as the murderous hate cemented itself on Steve’s face. It was as if the dangerous Second _wanted_ a fight to the death. Right at that moment, Steve was more than willing to accept that challenge.

Now face to face with Walker, his crouch was defensive as the two began to circle each other in the living room of the suite. Walker grinned in response. His cold eyes glittered crazily with a sick glee. 

“How’s our pretty little pet doing anyway, McGarrett?”  Walker’s baritone sickly laugh reached his ears again, his voice mocking. “Does he miss Spense …? Does he ever mention _me_? Did he tell you all about the lovely weekend we spent together? Or does he still think that was _you_? Is he scared of _you_? Does he think that you’re going to fuck him good? Does he want to come home to Spense? They love each other soooo much, it’s soooo sweet.”

He was playing a game, he was trying to get Steve angry and force him to make mistakes. The knowledge made no difference at all, because the words cut Steve like another fucking knife.

Eyes narrowed in total fury, Steve launched himself with an unholy roar and hit Walker full on before the last sentence even ended. He connected hard and true but Walker merely rocked in place, absorbing the blow. He didn't fall; in fact, Walker didn't even seem to register Steve’s strength. The man didn't do a blessed thing except curl his lips into another sickly smile before parrying neatly. An elbow found the side of Steve’s head, a knee connected with his stomach, nearest where the knife had gone in and Steve stumbled. The knife was wrenched from his grasp and tossed away.

Steve reeled at the unexpected show of speed, dexterity and skill as their battle shifted into an untidy grappling match. Then, from nowhere, fingers stained with his own blood, pushed through his guard and circled his throat. A brutal shove, and Walker’s heavy body pinned him to the wall.

Walker _squeezed,_ tight and mean.

Arms suddenly heavy as lead, Steve stared helplessly into that evil face, a mass of shadows, cold and hateful in the meager light.

“Did our dear Danno tell you about our time together,” Walker whispered into Steve’s ear, breath hot against his skin. “How _this_ -” Steve gagged as Walker’s fingers tightened in earnest, cutting off his air completely.  “-how _this_ made him plead for his lover? For Spense? For  _Spense_  to save him... from  _you_? You did this to him Steve. You did this to him… while you raped him.”

Steve gurgled, powerless and weakening. The taunts were horrific, echoing around his mind. His vision swam, eyes filling with tears as the world began to fade in and out around him.

“You shouldn’t be here. You should have just left us to take the necklace in peace.” Walker whispered between them, every syllable dripping evil. He was panting now, in the most horrific of ways, like he was _getting off_ on this.

Maybe it had been like this for Danny. Like this but so much _worse_. Steve’s heart twisted as he realized he was experiencing a mere shadow of what Danny had at the hands of this man.

“You should be with  _Danno_ , protecting him, Stevie-boy. Trying to fix him maybe, if there’s anything left to fix?  You’ve left the door wide open by coming here. Wide open… room 312, that’s where he is, right?”

And that was Danny’s room number. It really _was_. God, was McCann really going for him?!

Terror ripped through Steve, a surge of wild strength hot on its heels. He bucked his whole body, punched out wildly, kicked desperately. He ignored the heated wetness leaking down his side because he _had_ to save Danny. He had to get free! He had to end this!  

A sharp knee to the crotch- a fortuitous move- and Walker’s grip loosened enough for Steve to haul precious air into his lungs. Head clearing fractionally, he aimed a second blow to the same place, _meaning_ it with every fiber of his being for what the man had done. Walker bent over double, a strangled groan of pain tearing from his lips.

Gasping desperately for breath, Steve staggered away, rage still flowing through him. He was searching for his knife to finish the job while Walker was incapacitated. He saw the cold steel blade lying near his flashlight.

As he bent to pick it up, one hand still clutching at his aching throat, he hesitated, a moment of clarity hitting him. He should be going for his cuffs, because he wasn't a fucking animal like these people. Danny would want him to go for his cuffs, not his knife. Wouldn't he? Or would that have changed after everything that had happened? But then he heard a gun cock behind him.

 _Fuck._ He turned round slowly.

“Is he a good boy for you McGarrett? Or does he call out for Spense? Danno is his,” Walker whispered maliciously, still bent over in pain, one hand over his crotch. “He’ll  _never_  let him go.”

The words were spoken softly but they still fucking _hurt_ , and the man wasn’t done.

“Don’t worry, though. He won’t be at Tripler much longer. You think Spense would let his obedient little fuck toy die with the rest of you pieces of shit when the device is activated? No chance, he’s too good a lay! Spense spent too long training him up just right. He gives fucking good head, McGarrett. You don’t know what you’re missing….”

Walker straightened up at that, trigger finger tightening... but the bastard should have fired when he had the chance. Yelling in wordless fury, Steve simply _threw_ his weapon. The blade struck true, sinking up to the hilt in Walker’s chest, right over his heart, with a sickening thud. 

Unable to speak and gasping for air, Steve watched the change in the younger man’s black eyes. He watched the shift from rage to a bewilderment as Dylan's blood-stained lips opened as if to speak. His brow furrowed deeply, fluctuating between pain and confusion. 

Without offering a word at first, Steve smiled wide, his own teeth stained with blood, his own hatred shining through. 

The gun clattered to the ground as Walker dropped to his knees.

Breathing hard, hands flexed into fists, Steve hobbled over and crouched in front of Walker. The disbelief on Dylan's face faded to a look of fear as he slumped over onto his side.

Steve bent down low and leaned forwards to whisper in the dying man's ear. “You're a dirty fucking bastard, Walker. This is too good for you. Don't worry, you won't be alone for long. McCann's gonna meet you in _Hell._ Soon … very, very soon. You’ll _both_ wish you’d never laid a finger on Danny Williams.”

Walker looked at him, mouth working silently. But blood was the only thing that passed between his lips. Steve watched greedily, then he waited as the light in the bastard’s eyes dulled, flickered and left. And then the deranged killer was gone, his eyes glazing to stare lifelessly up at … nothing.

The red mist still smothering his thoughts, still thrumming through his veins, Steve staggered to his feet, still panting for air. One hand wedged to the knife wound in his belly, the other braced against the wall, he stared down at the dead man with undisguised hatred. But the fight had taken its toll. He wavered in place and then locked his knees in an effort to stay upright. 

“Steve? You okay?”

He jumped, wincing at the movement, and turned to see Kono, the necklace that had baited their trap still hanging around her neck.

He gasped. In the heat of the battle with Walker he’d all but forgotten his team had been fighting for their lives in the room next door. He ran his gaze down Kono’s slight frame, looking for wetness in the dark that might tell of serious injury. But there was none and he slumped in relief. Her face was bruised but in one piece and she was clutching a weapon that wasn’t her own.

Chin appeared by her shoulder. “Steve? They’re all down! West team took out three more on the roof. Looks like they fell for the necklace thing, they were really trying to get it! Hey, you okay?”

Steve hadn’t even realized that the chaotic sounds of battle in the master bedroom had ended. Now the only background noise was a demanding burr of orders emanating from Gutches, directed at their HPD teams. There was much to sort out. Missing HPD officers, the disaster area across the road, bodies in the hotel suite. Prisoners? This time there might actually be survivors to interrogate!

Steve blinked tiredly, exhausted and disoriented, as Kono shone a flashlight around the room, taking in the three still forms on the other side of the room. They didn’t look like they were going to be answering questions any time soon, if ever.

Then the beam came to rest on the dead man at Steve’s feet and Kono gasped out loud as his face was illuminated.

“Walker?! Jesus!” She stepped closer, eyes on Steve, no doubt searching for a clue as to his state of mind, because all of them knew the significance of this. The deeply personal wrong that Walker had done Steve and Danny both.

She crouched down, touched the mercenary’s neck to confirm he was gone. And, as she did so, a chill spread through Steve’s body. _Walker was dead_. McCann… he wasn’t going to like that. Not one bit.

Chin’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Steve? You okay?”

Still silent, he met the Asian man’s eye. _Was_ he okay? He was injured, but it couldn’t be _that_ bad, he was still standing after all. It would need to be looked at, but…. He thought about the question more carefully, and his eyes widened in horror as the rush of recent events clarified in his bleary mind.

LaRouche thought Danny was at imminent risk, wanted to take him away to protect him. And McCann… where was he? Walker had said… oh God! Walker had said Danny wouldn’t be at Tripler for long! That McCann meant to take him back!  

Heart rate accelerating wildly, he shook his head. Hoping against hope, he somehow knew the answer to his question before he even responded.

“No. No I’m not. Unless… did we get McCann?!”

It was a desperate, forlorn hope, because if the answer had been ‘yes’, they would have said before now. There wouldn’t be that clinging atmosphere of defeat hanging over the room in spite of their superficial victory.

Sure enough, Chin and Kono shook their heads slowly in unison.

For a moment, Steve thought his legs were going to give out from beneath him. “Jesus! Call … Lou,” he gasped out. “Call him… now! McCann … _Danny_! I think McCann’s gone for Danny!” 

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 


	34. Chapter 34

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

“ _Steve, he’s fine! He’s safe! Are you listening to me?!_ ”

Barely contained panic thrashing around in his stomach like a snared beast, Steve shook his head, lips pursed tight as his vehicle tore back across the city towards Tripler and Danny.

“No Lou, McCann’s coming for him! He’s gotta have planned to move in the same moment Walker hit the hotel. He’s gotta be _there_! Lock the place down, do you hear me? _Lock the place down_!”

Lou’s voice remained infuriatingly calm, his words low and drawn out, like he was trying to get through to some suicidal man on a ledge. “ _Steve, take a breath and listen. Security was already tight, you approved it yourself! And we put the place on lockdown when Chin called; it’s been done, okay? I’ve got teams searching every room. But Steve, our people ain’t stupid. The staff here ain’t stupid. Even if he’s disguised himself they ain’t gonna let a face they don’t know in here, not anytime, but especially not now! Not a chance in hell! I honestly think Danny’s safe here._ ”

Steve swore and hung up, refusing to waste another breath arguing with Lou because no _way_ was Danny safe if McCann had a plan to move in for him. The man was a genius with no moral compass, no conscience. McCann wouldn’t come for Danny unless he believed he’d found a way to _get_ him, and he wouldn’t care what he had to do to achieve his aim. And once the mercenary discovered that the mission to steal Isabelle’s necklace had failed… worse yet, that his beloved Second was _dead…_ McCann would be virtually unstoppable in his need for vengeance.

Fear coiling and uncoiling inside him, Walker’s taunts still whispering in his ear, Steve mainlined every effort into driving as fast as the van would go.

Glancing in his mirrors, Steve could still see traces of the devastation McCann’s men had left in their wake. Smoke rising from the smoldering vestiges of the fires caused by the incendiaries was silhouetted against the pastel blues and pinks of the gathering dawn amongst the monolithic high rises. He had left Chin and Kono and Gutches and Jacks behind to handle the carnage and pulled away in a cloud of dust, because he _had to_ get to Danny, he had to get to him before McCann did.

Steve listened absently to the barrage of radio traffic as he sped along, learning snippets about the chaos he had left behind. Some news was _good._ Thank God the outer team Steve had released to go help with the aftermath of the explosions had succeeded in freeing the people trapped in the apartment block; a sabotaged fire escape had been quickly replaced with a ladder improvised out of scaffolding procured from a neighboring building. No civilian casualties had been reported so far and no serious injuries either. Minor burns. A broken leg on someone who just couldn’t wait for rescue and had jumped three storeys to the pavement beneath. But there was so much more to do; devastated buildings to be searched, crime scenes to be secured, witnesses to be interviewed. So much… and HPD were stretched to breaking point as it was.

The determined and driven military leader in Steve wanted to be everywhere at once now; assisting with search and rescue efforts at the scene, interrogating the prisoners they had- and there were _two_ still living- who might just hold the key to the chemical weapon’s location, speaking to the families of the two HPD officers on the outer cordon who had had their throats slit… their bodies had just been located and Steve’s couldn’t think about that yet. More blood on McCann’s hands. On _Steve’s_ hands.

But _Danny_ was at risk now. _Danny_ … and he’d suffered too much already. Steve- Steve the _best friend_ \- had to get to him. Nothing else mattered.

How had Walker known? How the _hell_ had he known about the room number? How had he known Steve would be at the hotel? How did he know to send that poor bellboy with the message for _him_ specifically?

It could only mean one thing; McCann still had a source, a source close to them. But at the same time… Walker _hadn’t_ known the necklace didn’t really hold the code for the device. How could he know so much but _not that key detail_?! That ruled out Five-0, as if they needed to be ruled out. What about HPD? Only the individuals directly involved in the op knew the details of the plan, and _none_ had been told that the necklace was nothing but a lure. The briefing Steve had given was simply that they had intel McCann intended to hit Mercier to try to retrieve the jewelry. So the leak _could_ still be someone in HPD, someone who had been compromised in spite of Jerry’s careful vetting. It would fit.

Who had known apart from the officers on the detail? Duke. That was it. Although the officers on duty at Danny’s door would have overheard when he and Wade had discussed the plan with the rest of the team. Who had that been? Steve thought back, trying to picture the scene through the remembered upset of Danny’s wild attempt at escape. Officer Akui; he had been there. Was still there. And he knew Danny’s room number, of course. Could McCann have gotten to him?

_Shit._

Then time for thought was gone. A reinforced cordon of military police stood between Steve and the parking lot at Tripler, and their presence was _good_ , but he cursed them for not recognising him instantly and forcing him to halt his headlong dash. A barked exchange and he was off again, zig-zagging through the parking lot, bouncing over kerbs, before screeching to a halt outside the main entrance.

The cops at the door seemed to know it would be him before he even threw himself out of the vehicle. They let him by and he ran into reception.

Eyes everywhere, Steve battled to control his breathing. Everyone was a suspect, anyone could be McCann or one of his minions. Grinding to a temporary halt, he scanned the bustling hospital reception area. The place might be on lockdown, but there were still patients needing urgent care. It was still busy with medical personnel, and figures in military uniform, HPD officers. Organised chaos. He knew every face that should be there- had made it his business to do so- and tried to get a clear view at every person that passed him, tried to tick them off his mental list. Tried to find someone who didn’t fit.

Which figure might be McCann? Tall, broad-shouldered, someone actively trying to conceal their face… suddenly every person he looked at seemed to fit that description. They were all half-turned from him, or wearing hats, or sporting facial hair.

That tightly controlled panic began to rise, squeezing at his throat like Walker had, and his breaths came in short gasps. Adrenaline continued to pound through his system, muddling his thoughts. He spun round in a tight circle, the walls closing in on him. How was he supposed to keep Danny safe?

He _had to get to him_ , stand between him and whatever McCann was sending his way; a physical barrier between Danny and possible harm.

Steve turned sharply and sprinted up the stairs.

There were two HPD officers guarding the entrance from the stairwell to Danny’s floor. He made a move to push past them, but one stood firm and reached up to put her hand to his chest, craning her neck upwards to meet his eye determinedly.

“Sorry Commander. No weapons allowed past this door,” she said, plainly nervous but brokering no argument.

He blinked at her, momentarily taken aback, then rapidly registered her as one of the rookies Duke had deemed competent enough for the detail. He looked down at his holster. _Shit_. What was he thinking?! The situation might be critical, but nothing had changed with Danny. The last time he’d been conscious, he’d still waved a gun in Steve’s face and that was something he couldn’t afford to lose sight of.

“Yeah. Yeah, good work, officer,” he said, brusque, trying not to give away how close to losing it he really was.

Eyes already on the little window in the door behind her, he disarmed himself rapidly, slipping his weapon from its holster and passing it over to the woman to be placed in the lockbox they’d had secured on the wall for that very purpose. He reached for the sheath of his combat knife, but stopped, remembering it was empty, the blade was still firmly embedded in Dylan Walker’s sternum. He shuddered, then pushed the memory away, then yanked off his TAC vest and threw it to one side.

He raised his hands and turned slowly.

“That’s it, I’m clean,” he muttered hastily, his thoughts focused solely on the ongoing threat. His mind raced in time with the pulsing beat of his heart. McCann was coming, coming for _Danny_ … _how_ was he coming? He always had a plan, always seemed ten steps ahead. How would he get in? How would he make it in past these defences?

As he was given clearance to go ahead he ran, literally and unashamedly, needing to see his partner with his own eyes. The HPD man at Danny’s door had changed, Officer Akui was gone, but the new guy nodded Steve in without him having to break stride.

He went in the door, rounded the corner and… he virtually sagged in relief.

There was Danny, just as he’d left him. Slight and pale, quiet and still, sleeping the drug-assisted sleep he needed right then to let him heal. He was okay. He was _still safe_. Steve’s eyes remained fixed on him, watching his chest rise and fall. Steve reached out, needing to lay hands on him to reassure himself his partner wasn’t some hallucination. He touched a lax hand, ran his fingers lightly across knuckles that had pounded a hundred bad guys in their time. Danny felt warm and alive.

“Steve!!” Lou’s booming baritone came from the hall behind him, the heavy pounding of the big man’s feet a giveaway to his hurried pace as he followed Steve into the room, stopping a few steps to the side. “See, he’s fine, he’s okay!”

Steve didn’t turn. He let himself take a moment, let Danny’s warmth leach into his own skin for a few precious seconds and take the edge of the terror that had accompanied his headlong dash. They hadn’t lost him. He was still _here_. Steve _wouldn’t_ lose him.

“But he won’t be for much longer if we don’t get him out of here! Commander?!”

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, hackles rising. He knew it was Agent LaRouche without turning and recollection of Lou’s phone call came back to him along with the remembered fury at the concept of Danny being taken from them by INTERPOL. LaRouche thought she could take him away from them?! It wasn’t happening no matter which strings she tried to pull.

Blanking her, his priorities elsewhere, Steve finally turned round to meet Lou’s gaze. He shifted slightly, unconsciously manoeuvring his body more solidly between that of Danny and the slight figure he could see in the doorway from the corner of his eye.

“Lou! McCann’s men came from the roof at the hotel. Do you have….”

Lou, eyes wide with concern, cut him off. He held out a hand, punctuating his words with his open palm. “Yes, we’ve checked the roof. What’dya take me for?! First things first, McGarrett. Is everyone okay? Chin was pretty tight-lipped on the phone and that didn’t help my nerves none, I can tell you!”

Steve shook his head. “Our team is okay, but we lost two HPD at least.”

Lou swore, running his eyes up and down Steve’s body as he did. His gaze lingered on his bruised neck, then came to a rest just above his beltline. “That your blood?”

Steve shook his head again in annoyance. Lou must have been taking mother hen lessons from Danny. “I’m fine, it’s nothing,” he said dismissively. “McCann is….”

Lou ignored him, took a step closer and unceremoniously yanked Steve’s shirt from his pants. He held the garment up so he could see for himself.  “Jesus, man. You’re okay?! So what, you cut yourself shaving?! Steve, what happened? We got reports in of explosions!”

Steve knocked Lou’s hand away angrily, not wanting to waste a second on concerns about himself. Not wanting LaRouche to see him laid vulnerable for that matter.

“What happened…?!” he snapped. A flash of blood and of Walker’s horrific words hit him like a punch out of nowhere, drying up his words. Steve glanced back at Danny again and touched his own bruised throat. He shook himself. “This can wait, the bleeding’s stopped. This can _all_ wait. We need to think, we need to work out how McCann’s going to get in. What he’s going to try.”

“Commander,” LaRouche interjected, and Steve whirled to glare at her, reluctantly acknowledging her presence in the room for the first time. The sight of her alone was enough to render him livid, all the more so for seeing her _here_ , intruding on Danny’s space.

She shook her head incredulously. “What do you _expect_ McCann to do? You think he’s going to sneak in? Disguise himself as a doctor? A cleaner? Crawl around air conditioning ducts?” She snorted with laughter. “Never! He doesn’t do ‘sneaking in’. He likes to do the unexpected and subtle doesn’t interest him. He hits places hard and he does not _care_ about the size of a mess he makes. We need to get Detective Williams out of here.”

“ _He_ doesn’t care? What about you?! You let McCann take him to begin with,” Steve hissed, _furious_ at her audacity. “You could have stopped it but you just sat back and let it happen! Why the hell should you expect me to believe you want to help him now?!”

Something flickered in her eye, some untold emotion peering out from behind her rock hard façade for an instant before it was gone again. “Our latest intelligence indicates that McCann intends to hold off detonating the device until he has Williams in his possession. Ensuring Detective Williams is safe is the best way for us to protect your whole damned island, Commander.”

Steve stared at her warily. Walker had said the same thing. “And your intelligence came from…,” he pressed.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“You want me to co-operate, you tell me fucking _everything_!”

LaRouche shifted uneasily, glancing at Lou then out of the door towards the HPD officer. She took a step closer to Steve, dropped her voice low. “Leon. He made contact earlier today for the first time since your little visit to Molokai. He’s managed to stay close to McCann. Convinced them you over-powered him and left him for dead, somehow. This intervention was recommended by _him_.”

Steve’s jaw dropped at that, and he looked over at Lou. Leon had intended to _leave_. He was still with McCann?! How the hell had he pulled that off?! He shook his head; he had no way to know if that was true or not. “Danny’s well-protected _here_. He’s better off here with…”

“With medical staff and other patients in the building who McCann will think nothing of killing en masse to get to him?” said LaRouche. “Keeping him here is putting a lot of innocent lives at risk. We need to take him somewhere private which can be locked down properly, longer term. As long as it takes for us to get McCann and find the weapon.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue back, then froze. A sudden image of the incendiaries that had been set off just over an hour earlier downtown going off in a ward at Tripler made him shudder openly. Shit. Could she be _right_ about keeping Danny here being a mistake?

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But he can’t be moved anyway. We’d have to….”

“Consult with the doctor? I’ve done it already. His current course of IV antibiotics will be complete within 2 hours and they can have him ready to travel shortly thereafter.”

Steve saw red; how _dare_ she! How dare Pukui, or whoever LaRouche had managed to manipulate into discussing Danny’s situation!

“YOU SPOKE TO HIS DOCTOR?!” he roared.

Danny stirred behind him, moaning softly, the light sedation not enough to blank his senses from that level of onslaught. Struggling badly, Steve tempered his volume though his anger knew no bounds. “You had no right, who the hell do you think you are?!”

She carried on, apparently unperturbed. “INTERPOL has access to a state of the art medical facility here on Oahu which is fully defendable. An adapted safehouse. We have in-house nursing staff, a full-time MD  _and_ we currently have one of the foremost experts on psychological trauma associated with hostage situations and sexual assault in the world on our premises- Doctor Claus Hendricks. He’s based in Los Angeles but we brought him in to work with Doctor Mercier. His results have been excellent. You’ve seen Doctor Mercier, it would appear- and you’ve explaining to do there when time allows- so you’ve seen how well _she’s_ coping, given her ordeal. There is simply no one better qualified to work with Detective Williams. We can keep him safe _and_ give him the best chance to recover.”

Steve stared at her. He had to be hallucinating. LaRouche was trying to take over, trying to take Danny. What she was saying, it was too good to be true, too convenient. It was sending his alarm bells clanging wildly. And yet… certain aspects of her argument were sound.

He shook his head, keeping his body firmly between the INTERPOL Agent’s and his defenceless partner’s as he made one resentful concession. “Okay, I can accept the logic in moving him. I don’t want more collateral damage, and neither would Danny. But _I’ll_ handle it, not you. I don’t trust you.”

“So who do you trust, Commander?”

That simple question was the hardest of all to answer. He looked at her, looked at Lou, looked over at the nameless HPD officer who stood where Akui had been before. Had Akui leaked the information to McCann? Someone else in HPD? Someone from the TV Studio? Mercier herself? He simply didn’t know. Who _did_ he trust? No one outside of his team, was the honest answer. And they were run ragged, stretched paper thin. They needed back-up and they needed it _now_. He had to accept help from _someone_. But LaRouche?

“Why should I trust you after what you did to us?” he rasped. “ _You_ let this happen to him.”

She glanced at Danny’s prostrate figure, then opened her mouth with what was perhaps intended to be a sharp retort… but it turned into an outright sob. Steve stared at her in total shock.

“Because I’m trying to protect him,” she choked out. “He’s been through _enough_.”

That was too much. Stepping away from his partner, Steve snapped at Lou to stay with him, then grabbed LaRouche by the wrist and pulled her away from Danny, out of the room and along the hall. He turned, so he could see Danny’s door out of the corner of his eye even as he faced down the Agent.

“YOU… DON’T CARE ABOUT HIM!” he shouted, inches from her face, teeth bared. “YOU NEVER DID! YOU KNEW WHERE HE WAS!! YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED IT!!!! DON’T YOU DARE TRY TO MAKE OUT YOU GIVE A SHIT ABOUT HIM NOW!!”

His voice cracked and he stopped his tirade, breathing hard. “Just… just what the hell are you playing at?! Huh?”

LaRouche was shaking beneath the solid hold he had on her wrist.

“I felt… I had no choice,” she said. “I didn’t let myself think of him as a person. I couldn’t _afford_ to. It’s how we’re trained to deal with difficult situations. You must understand that.” She somehow kept her voice quiet and reasonable, but her tone had changed completely now. It jangled with nerves and scarcely concealed emotion, all the things he would never associate with the ice cold agent in a million years.

Still, Steve’s face twisted in scorn at the idea of Danny’s rape and torture being classed as a ‘difficult situation’. “’Felt’? Past tense? So what’s changed?” He spat out the words, sure nothing had changed, certain this was nothing but more INTERPOL politics and games. Smoke and mirrors.

The agent’s lips quivered for long moments before she replied, then without warning her eyes filled with tears. Steve’s jaw dropped.

“I saw what they did to him,” she said simply. One tear ran over and he watched it sliding down her cheek to her jaw.

Steve shook his head, not understanding. “What do you mean? The forensics reports?”

“No,” she breathed. “The team that went to Molokai. They retrieved… new evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“There were articles, papers. McCann had clearly researched what he did to Danny, he had an endpoint in mind, it wasn’t just mindless torture. And… and he recorded… what they did. There’s a video. They edited together the-” she paused, snorted in disgust- “’highlights’ of what they did to him. I watched it. All of it.”

She looked back towards Danny’s door before meeting Steve’s searching gaze. Her expression had changed altogether now too. Bravado, attitude and guards had all evaporated leaving behind a look of vulnerability. _Fear_. “I need to protect… him. I’ll do _anything_ to protect him.” Then anger flushed though her and she balled her hands into fists. “They’ve done _enough_ to him.”

Steve stared at her as if seeing her for the first time, bile rising in his throat as the import of her words fully sank into his brain. Suddenly he couldn’t catch his breath; it felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He’d known about the cameras, known McCann had security, but this…. “Why? Why did he…?” he couldn’t finish the question, didn’t expect an answer.

Now sympathy filled her expression and he thought he was actually going to be sick.

“It was marked for your attention. But I didn’t pass it on. I couldn’t. He’s your best friend. You shouldn’t see that. But… but it will help, right? It will help the psychiatrists. I can show it to our specialist and it will help him know how best to help your partner. Right?”

Steve’s mouth was gaping, words failing him as he tried to take in what she was saying, what she’d _seen_. McCann had done research… had he _experimented_ on Danny as if he were a lab rat?! It fit with the drugs found in Danny’s system. And the video of the hell he’d been through was marked for _Steve’s_ attention? McCann had hurt Danny- with hurting Steve in mind? He’d suspected that, feared that, but… _he had to see it_. That one fact reached out and grabbed him. He _had_ to see what had happened to Danny. He _knew_ what had happened to him but it simply _wasn’t_ the same. He _had_ to understand what Danny had been through. He needed to watch it, as though he could somehow suffer through it with his partner. Somehow support him, have his back in retrospect. Stop him from being _alone_.

Those thoughts must have passed his lips in some form or another without conscious thought, because LaRouche was shaking her head sadly.

“Listen… I think that would be a bad, bad idea,” LaRouche said, her voice stressed with urgency. “But I have the video at our medical facility. If you _really_ want to, there will be time, once he’s safe. _I need him to be safe_. Please. I’m _not_ trying to take him from you. Come with him! You call the shots, you approve all the security measures we take. _Stay_ with him. He will need a friend as he becomes stronger, yes? Both of you will be safe, and the island will be safe. _Please_. Will you let me help you? Let me make amends? I’m scared for him. McCann is coming for him. He’ll hit hard and fast and I don’t think we can protect everybody here. _Please_. Let me help. Please trust me.”

God, she sounded _desperate_. And every damned word she said made sense.

Still struck dumb, Steve finally nodded.

“Yeah,” he rasped out after a pause. “Yeah, okay.”

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

It seemed to Steve that preparations for the move were happening in a blur around he and Danny. They were in the eye of a chaotic storm as everything fell into place. They remained still, Steve motionless on a chair, shirt hanging off his shoulders, as he finally allowed medical staff to flush and suture his knife wound. Danny beside him, still out, still sedated, unaware of what was happening to him. The central line being carefully removed. The monitors finally disconnected.

Steve reached over to touch his hand, grunting in annoyance as the movement pulled on the new stitches in his gut. “It’s gonna be fine, Danny. You just sleep. It’s going to be _fine_.”

Not that the blond man had a choice. It would be a couple more hours before the effects of the sedative began to wear off, plenty time to get him settled at LaRouche’s facility. Get the new doctor to assess his meds and decide if they should keep him under or let him start to come around properly… and open the can of worms _that_ would likely bring them.

They just had to get him there in one piece.

Steve winced as the thread pulled tight on another suture. Seeing additional movement in his peripheral vision, he looked round to see Lou striding into the room once more.

“Hey,” he said, the word grating against his throat. He was tired again, fear for Danny and the need to just keep the momentum going until they got him to safety buoying him along despite the threatening adrenaline dump.

“Hey,” Lou grunted. “We’ve been speaking to LaRouche. We all agree the best way to do this is low profile. We sneak you and Danny out, keeping the security in place _here_ so if McCann’s watching- and we have to assume he is- he doesn’t suspect anything’s happening. Once you’re both safely ensconced at the INTERPOL facility we’ll start to dismantle the security here and send it over there because we do _not_ want McCann to hit the hospital. This move is as much to protect the staff and patients here as it is to protect Danny.”

“What about our mystery leak?” Steve rasped out.

“Not identified. Akui went off duty; he’d been on 17 hours straight. There’s no one spare to check up on him and he’s not answering his phone. Could just be sleepin’ though, right?”

“Right,” Steve nodded, not believing it.

“I know. I don’t know what to believe any more. Haven’t for a while now. I think we’re all in the same boat. So, we tell no one outside of those who’re directly involved what we’re doing. Jerry’s wondering if they’ve hacked into our secure radio channels somehow. So… burners only this time, no radios. No technology that can be tracked or traced while you’re travelling; LaRouche is going to set you up with a burner when you get to the INTERPOL facility. The vehicle you and Danny go in will be scanned for trackers too. LaRouche says their facility has layers of protection; it’s not penetrable by intra red or heat imaging, and it’s clean. No external internet either so no unsolicited monitoring that way. She says she has her most trusted agents protecting it, and we’ll move the whole detail from Tripler over to back them up the moment you guys arrive safely.”

“Okay. Who’s traveling with us?”

“Gutches and Jacks. They won’t go in convoy with you; too obvious. They’re gonna take a different route, cross paths with you occasionally; standard anti-surveillance techniques.”

“Good,” Steve nodded his approval. “And I’m with Danny?” Steve knew he’d heard it, but he needed to hear it again.

“Yes. You’re with Danny.”

A firm pat on the shoulder and Lou was gone. Steve, eyed the staff distrustfully as they slid Danny smoothly and expertly onto a gurney and then winced again as Doctor Pukui finished tying off the last of the sutures.

“How about you, doc,” he said. “You okay with this?”

Pukui let out a long breath, standing up straight, needle still in hand. “Yes and no. No because I’d sooner see his treatment through in person. Yes because I’ve spoken with INTERPOL’s MD. He seems good. Knowledgeable. I’ve emailed Danny’s notes, his med schedule to him. Everything seems to be as it should be.”

“What about the psychiatrist guy? Hendricks? You heard of him?”

Dr Pukui laughed appreciatively. “Sure. I read his books at med school. He’s world-famous. Danny would be in the best hands, literally, from that point of view. INTERPOL really does have some sway getting him!”

Steve let out a slow breath, watching as they packaged Danny up for traveling. Why hadn’t McCann struck yet? It was well into the morning now and surely the man knew about the failed mission… knew about Dylan Walker. Was he watching? Waiting for Danny to be out in the open, in a vehicle. Vulnerable.

“Steve? It’s time.”

Steve looked up to see Gutches, mission-face in situ.

He nodded. “Let’s do it.”

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Steve watched Danny quietly. Every move. Every subtle inhale. Every twitch.

Stubborn to the last, the blond man was fighting the sedative, eyes cracking open tiredly every few seconds. His face was covered in sweat, his throat convulsing swallow after swallow. He was distressed, scared by the move for all he barely knew it was happening.

Steve ran his eyes over the portable monitors Danny was hooked up to then glanced at the INTERPOL nurse in search of reassurance. The man, ‘Tony’, had appeared at the allocated time in the back of a superficially non-descript van which was customized to the nines, done up like an ambulance inside. The vehicle had pulled up to the hospital’s laundry entrance to collect them.

Gutches had scanned it from end to end while Pukui and one of his nurses spoke to Tony, handing over Danny’s care once and for all.

Steve had assisted as Danny was loaded into the back, his gurney sliding up and in, quickly and smoothly.

Now Steve and LaRouche were sitting together awkwardly on a second, unused gurney across from Danny’s, trying their hardest not to accidentally touch one another or make eye contact as the vehicle moved along.

“He okay? He’s not supposed to come round for a while yet,” said Steve worriedly.

The nurse nodded reassuringly. “He’s more alert than I was expecting for sure but he’s okay. Can you speak to him? Keep him calm. I can sedate him again if it needs to be done but I know the doc will prefer for him to be aware when he assesses him on arrival.”

Steve nodded, heart in his mouth at the thought of Danny’s awakening coming so soon. He reached over to touch Danny’s hand. “All right, buddy,” he whispered softly, remembering to be unsure if his voice would be a help or a hindrance but unable to say nothing at all. “Hang in there. Won’t be long.”

Danny’s hand moved by the tiniest amount beneath Steve’s and he opened his eyes once more and rested his gaze on Steve, bleary and confused. Steve watched as he looked abruptly towards the small side window, seeming to take in the indistinguishable scenery flashing by them for a fraction of a second. The fact that they were _moving_. Then he was looking right back at Steve again, and there was an undeniable flicker of hope crossed them.

“Spense?” the blond man huffed out.

It was blatant what he was asking. Was Steve taking him back to Spense? Was he keeping his promise? Fuck. Steve didn’t want to lie. But he so didn’t want to upset Danny, to break the truth to him, the truth that he would never, ever take him back to McCann. That couldn’t happen here and now, with this audience.

He opened his mouth, not knowing what to say, and he could already see Danny’s face tensing every moment he hesitated.

Then Agent LaRouche turned and leaned closed to them. She placed a hand on Danny’s leg, making Steve’s hackles go up.

“Yes, Detective. Don’t worry, we’re taking you to Spense.”

Steve’s jaw dropped at the smoothness with which the lie dripped off her tongue, but Danny instantly relaxed, instantly closed his eyes again, and for that Steve was grateful.

His gaze lingered on Danny for long moments. Exhausted and hurting inside and out, Steve couldn’t hide his sadness. How could Danny actually believe he’d be expendable? That Steve would really allow that fucking maniac to have him back, to hurt him … again and again?

Flexing his fingers, Steve felt zero sorrow at having killed Walker.  He could scarcely wait to do the same to McCann for what they’d done to Danny - how they truly left him so utterly broken, so unlike himself. 

Then Steve finally turned to eye the agent, feeling the smallest measure of gratitude that her timely lie had put off the inevitable stand-off between the partners that genuinely might mark the demise of their friendship if Danny persisted in this illogical need to return to his tormentor. Steve would never let it happen in spite of the promise he’d made… and Danny might never forgive him for the lie.

He met her eye and was almost taken aback at the depth of the guilt he saw there. He wasn’t surprised though. She _should_ feel like that. The fact that she could have stopped all this from happening to Danny before it had even started was still right there, inescapable, irrefutable and inexcusable. She might be trying to help them now but, really, what reason could possibly have been enough to warrant her leaving Steve and Danny to their respective fates?

He snorted in disgust, unwilling to give LaRouche too much credit. She didn’t deserve anything at all.

Still, Steve paused because part of him simply couldn’t be that callous. At least she was trying, he supposed, even if it felt like it was too little, too late. He nodded belatedly to acknowledge her timely intervention, still unable to think of a single positive word he wanted to say to the woman.

The guilt in her eye seemed to deepen even further. She looked away.

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grovelling apologies from Swifters. RL has gone off the scale wacky! Never fear, IC's long-distance poking abilities will keep this baby going no matter what befalls me :)

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

Jerry’s stomach was churning. Alone at the Palace, with no one by his side to help allay his fears, he felt the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders as he watched the live satellite feed of the van carrying Steve and Danny towards LaRouche’s facility.

The silence was deafening and despite it being a beautiful sunny day outside, he’d wanted to look over his own shoulder more than once already, feeling unseen eyes on him. But that was ridiculous. It was nothing more than his own paranoia playing tricks on his mind and he tamped it down as firmly as he could, unwilling to let it win. 

He had a job to do- and a damn important one- so he stayed his ground and kept his eyes trained diligently on his task. He didn’t dare let himself blink. McCann could be anywhere, planning anything and Jerry had to _see_ it, to _predict_ it. To prevent the evil bastard getting near his friends again.

A little poking on the dark web had confirmed the address LaRouche had given Steve was what it was reported to be – an INTERPOL safehouse. Disconcerting as it was that the criminal underworld was well aware of a screed of addresses law enforcement used to keep witnesses safe, Jerry had still found that fact reassuring. He didn’t trust LaRouche the tiniest bit. Of course there were few people in the world that Jerry _did_ trust, so that wasn’t saying much.

He’d gone on, covered every base he could. Satellite images showed the address to be as defendable as LaRouche had described. Protected by a high wall, it was located on a low rise a good mile from any other property. The clear ground around it meant a sneak attack would be impossible. Short of attacking with a rocket launcher, McCann would be hard pressed to find an easy way in and surely with his stated intention he wouldn’t make such a move just in case his prize- Danny- was damaged in the process.

No, _this_ was the time when his teammates were vulnerable, traveling essentially unprotected as they were. The way they were doing it- low key and covert- made sense. But Jerry was so nervous he thought he might be sick.

Eyes flicking between the live satellite feed and coverage from the network of traffic cams distributed across the city, Jerry watched and waited.

The minutes ticked by, everything going to plan.

Then, no warning, the live feed flickered. The screens went black. Jerry’s eyes widened in horror and the sound that came out of his mouth was nothing short of a stunned shout.

“No, no, no, _no_!” he exclaimed, reaching out for the tech table, his fingers flying across its surface by pure instinct alone, every worst case scenario flashing before his eyes… but then as suddenly as it had disappeared, the live feed was back.

Heart beating in his ears, Jerry searched wildly for the van amongst the traffic and crossroads, looking desperately for the logo of the laundry company used by the hospital emblazoned on the side. Had it gone, had it disappeared? Had McCann….

 _He found it_.

The van’s soothing white shape, so benign, _was right there_. Still driving peacefully along the highway just as before; steady speed, steady progress, driver doing nothing that might draw attention to the vehicle. _Nothing had happened_. 

Jerry watched, tendrils of that same paranoia and anxiety still creeping around his body. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. Maybe it was his imagination, but this time he couldn’t conquer that bad unsettling feeling. It toyed with him and became a cruel weight inside his chest. 

He’d been quietly struggling to cope with everything that had happened, never mentioning that fact to anyone because they all had enough on their plates. How Steve had managed to keep it together as well as he had, Jerry had no idea.

He had always quietly envied Steve and Danny their close relationship; he had never had a friend like that. Chin was the closest thing, but Jerry had always been… socially awkward for want of a better term. People were complicated things, lies falling from their lips as easily as the truth. With his ample frame he’d always been an easy target for teasing and bullying. Five-0 had changed all that. The unconditional friendship they had offered, as individuals and as a team, and the respect they had shown him, had drawn him out of his mom’s basement one backward-glancing step at a time. He knew they appreciated him for being _him_. He didn’t need to get a haircut or go on a diet to fit in. He didn’t have to pretend to be _anything_ he wasn’t. It had been a revelation, continued to be in fact.

And his adopted family was hurting right now in ways that made him scared and sick. Ways he didn’t feel able to think about. Sometimes he wished he was fit and brave and athletic so he could be there with them and protect them in person. But this… this was his forte. This was how he could protect his family. He was helping the only way he knew how. And right then his every instinct was thrumming in warning.

As he watched the van doing everything the van was supposed to do, that paranoia tightened its sinewy grip on him inexorably. Something _was_ wrong. Fingers dancing, he brought up traffic cam alongside the satellite view. The van cruised by the fixed camera passing parked cars, a woman pushing a buggy, a stray dog.

Eyes widening, Jerry glanced at his watch.

1130 hours. The shadows. _The shadows were wrong_. Why were the shadows wrong? It was approaching midday, but the shadows were _long_. It was supposed to be a live feed, but it wasn’t a live feed at all! The satellite wasn’t live, the traffic cam wasn’t live!

“No, no way,” he choked out loud in disbelief.

Hands now shaking, he brought up the teams’ burner numbers and dialed the one that had been given to Gutches.

 _“Jerry, what’s up buddy?”_  Came back the gruff voice.

“W-we have a problem. I’m getting a fake feed! It’s old footage! I don’t know where the van is!”

There was a stunned silence for all of two seconds before Gutches reacted. “ _Are you serious?! But_ _how_ …”

Jerry shook his head hard, breaths coming thick and fast even as his fingers tapped away, trying to work out where the real feed had gone, where _this_ feed was coming from.

“I don’t know yet, I don’t know, but _I don’t know where the van is_! You’ve gotta find them!”

“ _We’re due to cross paths with it in four minutes. I know where it should be- heading there now to intercept! Standby, Jerry.”_

Jerry nodded helplessly, eyes now scouring lines of data, of code, the fake feed abandoned as useless. “Where’s this feed coming from, I don’t understand?!”  he mumbled as he tried, and then failed, to regain their priceless feeds. He was absolutely dead in the water though even as he continued to vainly try idea after idea to circumvent what had been done. “Someone’s hacked in! I thought our system was rock solid, but someone’s hacked it! I’m trying to bypass what they’ve done, trying to get the real feed.”

And then his face fell as he finally understood what he was seeing. “Gutches… there’s no real feed. The actual satellite signal has been disrupted at the source! The traffic cams are _inactive_! Who could… how… it’s gotta be McCann, this is McCann, what’s he doing?!”

His train of thought was interrupted by an explosion of expletives from the SEAL on the phone line.

“What!” he shouted back in shock, his heart plummeting as a cold chill swept through his body. He stumbled over his words then, his mind racing as he simultaneously said a mental prayer, knowing it was fruitless.  “What … do you have them? Tell me you have them!”

“ _Jerry, I don’t know but the van is NOT where it was supposed to be. You hear me? Contact HPD and INTERPOL, put out an APB! We’re gonna re-trace the route it shoulda come in case they’ve been waylaid. Call the rest of the team! Get Chin and Kono to head to the safehouse just in case they’ve been forced to take a different route!”_

“You got it!” Jerry barked out, pulling up Kono’s number instantly. He felt as if he’d been hit by a sledge hammer, fighting to shake off the gut wrenching feeling that this was all his fault. He should have seen this coming … he should have _known_.  He should have done something … _anything_ … he just should have known!

But as he hit autodial, another terrible thought struck him and it sent him reeling. The fake feed… it had to have been recorded deliberately in advance. The van had to have made that journey before for that to happen. This wasn’t an unanticipated strike… this had been planned from the inside!

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

“I can’t believe this. _I can’t believe this_! How did this happen?!” Kono said yet again, pressing the accelerator down as hard as she could, clearly intending to redline the whole way to the safehouse. The engine of her car screamed in response as she maxed out her RPMs, the steering wheel threatening to buck under her firm grip as her tires begged for traction.

“We can’t panic yet. If McCann’s made an attempt to engage them and they’ve had to take evasive action, that would explain what’s happened, right?” Irrespective of his words, Chin was doing a fucking poor job of trying to sound calm.  His voice carried a tremble that Kono had heard maybe three or four times in her whole life.

She shook her head in silence, then glanced away from the road at her cousin. Chin was staring out the side window as Kono drove headlong towards the safehouse where their friends had been expected to arrive at any moment.  

He turned his head, their eyes meeting and Kono grimaced at the depths of despair she read in his expression. It was clear that he also didn’t believe a single thing he’d just spouted and Kono felt her anger flare, even if it might be unfounded.

“But what about the faked feed,” she threw back in a low voice, before looking back at the road.

“So maybe LaRouche’s driver took a dry run in the vehicle yesterday. Right? Maybe the footage was taken then.”

“Are you serious right now?!” Kono slammed her hand against the steering wheel, her palm stinging from the force, as her cousin tried to find reason with the unfathomable reality of their situation. And of all people, he should know McCann … he knew firsthand what the dangerous mercenary was capable of because only he and Danny had been subjected to the man one on one.

“Chin, don’t patronise me! I’ve not been a rookie for years! Yeah, sure he probably took a dry run, but in the actual vehicle they intended to use to move Danny?! I don’t think so!! This is all wrong and you know it! McCann’s pulled something and _somebody_ is in on it or Jerry’s right- the faked feed just wouldn’t exist. It’s gotta be the driver, or whoever provided the vehicle.”

She bit her lip as a stunning realization crossed her mind. LaRouche. Or, yes, it could be _LaRouche_. Or, INTERPOL … in fact, the whole fucking lot of them.

Chin’s silence said it all. He was thinking precisely the same thing.

“God dammit!” Kono couldn’t help the shout that came out of her mouth then. They’d been stupid. Again. Played. _AGAIN_.

The safehouse - LaRouche’s medical facility- was up ahead now and Kono’s eyes fixed on it, her gaze running across its expanse and automatically assessing it strategically in a way that would have made Steve proud. The high, solid metal gate and brick perimeter wall blocked their view of all but the uppermost storey of the house, but she could see barred windows and armed guards on the flat roof. There was no sign of the van. Maybe, just maybe, it was inside the massive gates. Maybe, just maybe, Steve and Danny were safe in the building.

But it felt wrong. All of it and she knew that her silent prayers were going to be for nothing. Nearly of its own volition, her foot eased up on the accelerator as they approached the barricaded entrance. There, she drew slowly to a stop and sat there for a moment, not making a move, not quite ready to find out.  She was breathing hard, her fingers white from gripping the steering wheel. Ignoring the glare of the sun, her eyes raked across the facility from left to right, and then back again.  She could barely move until she heard Chin’s voice and felt the warm, flower-scented breeze waft across the seats as he opened the passenger door.

“C’mon cuz,” came Chin’s soft voice beside her, and his hand touched her elbow for a fraction of a second, just before he eased out of the car. Kono nodded automatically, barely acknowledging that he’d shoved his weapon into the back of his pants

Forcing herself to do the same, she stepped out, her legs leaden, but her hand settling reassuringly on her holstered weapon. She needed the touch of that cool slick of metal just then. She needed to know it was there.

Almost eerily, the big wrought iron gates opened in front of them. Two men dressed head to toe in black strode through the instant the gap was wide enough and bore down on them aggressively, weapons drawn. Kono was hardly surprised because of course they’d been clocked on their approach.

“HANDS ON YOUR HEAD, IDENTIFY YOURSELVES!” one yelled, much louder than necessary.

Unable to hide the sneer as a surge of adrenalin jumped her into overdrive, Kono exchanged a distasteful look with Chin, but then complied.

“We’re Five-0,” Chin replied easily, almost conversationally, surprising Kono with the rediscovered steadiness of his tone. “Agent LaRouche is bringing two of our colleagues here but we think something might have happened to them en route. Have you had any communication with her?”

The two men exchanged a look of their own; one that bespoke more of a true confusion and her heart plummeted to her feet. _They didn’t know_. They really didn’t know and this house … this safehouse … was entirely wrong.  Swallowing hard at what was to come, Kono saw their gazes shift to take in the badges on each of their hips, only then did the weapons get lowered in synch.

“Agent LaRouche,” Kono forced the name out from her lips. “Who’s coordinating this end? LaRouche … she’s supposed to be _here_. Now. She should have just arrived; with two of our people.”

The taller of the men stepped forwards, still eyeing them with suspicion. “Who told you that?”

Kono raised her chin, meeting his challenging gaze head on with a confidence that she no longer could feel. “That she was bringing them here? _She_ did. They set off thirty minutes ago but we lost contact with the van they were in.”

The man shook his head slowly. “LaRouche isn’t bringing _anyone_ here.”

Kono narrowed her eyes in denial because that just couldn’t be true. It _couldn’t_ – none of them could have let Danny down this badly.  Her anger re-kindled along with a true sense of fear, it took Chin’s warning hand on her arm to steady her stance.

“ _What_?! But Detective Williams was due to arrive here. LaRouche said the medical facility was ready to receive him!

The man’s eyebrow’s shot skywards at that pronouncement. “Medical facility?! This is just a safehouse. That’s all. We’re protecting a foreign dignitary here. Wait, let me make a phone call.”

Unable to speak or provide any more in the way of helpful information, Chin and Kono stared at each other in horror, all of their worst assumptions now coming true.

 _McCann._ Kono stared helplessly at the man who was speaking off to the side. His tone was low, but he was plainly agitated. He spoke for just a few minutes, his eyes expressing a new concern as he glanced their way.

“Oh my God, Chin,” Kono whispered just based on the man’s severity of expression alone. The people here were in the dark. They were clueless about the transition plan.  “What’s going on? What the hell just happened?”

Their worst fears were being substantiated right in front of them and Kono had to lock her knees as the guard ended the call to walk back over.  His expression certainly shared enough, but what he said next _… what he said next_ was completely without precedent.

“Agent LaRouche isn’t working today. She- _ahhh_ \- she was suspended two days ago. She’s off active duty altogether. Apparently her service weapon had been involved in an unexplained shooting at that raid you guys kicked off. The old pump house near Ewa Beach?”

“Suspended?” Kono blurted out. “What … what do you mean suspended?  That’s impossible!”

The INTERPOL guard winced under her accusatory look, still not quite understanding the import of the news.

“Uh, yeah,” he repeated. “Her service revolver was used in an unauthorized act at that raid.  I’m not privy to the particulars, and if I was, I don’t have clearance to give you any more.  But, we can … we _will_ … get you in touch with those who can fill in the gaps … get you some answers. But now? Right now?  She is not on her way here … that’s for damned certain”

“Oh my God. Chin, she’s working for McCann,” Kono murmured, her hand slowly going over her mouth in shock.

“McCann?”  The guard asked incredulously. “Are you serious?! _Spenser McCann_ ... and that nut of his, Dylan Walker? That's what this is about and you think _our_ Agent is involved?  ”

Chin yanked out his own cell phone. He paused briefly, his eyes sparkling with animosity.

“Kono’s right, it’s the only explanation. _Your_ Agent … LaRouche,” he spat out. “She’s working for him … she’s working for McCann, so you damn well better get me someone who can talk right now! I want answers!”

Kono took two full steps backwards, the strain clearly evident on her face and she didn’t even try to hide it now from the two INTERPOL men. One of them was back on his cell phone again talking urgently and making some kind of demand which she barely heard.  By her side, Chin was doing the same- calling Gutches; spouting his demands of Jerry back at the Palace. Trying God knows what to do the impossible because LaRouche, the van and her friends had vanished into thin air.

“She’s got Steve and Danny,” Kono whispered virtually to herself. Then the full implications of the situation hit her and she lunged out and grabbed her cousin’s arm, her eyes full of desperation. 

“Oh my God, Chin. _McCann has Steve and Danny_.”

 

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _

 

 

 


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UMMMMM - so HI!!! Happy "one year later" Anniversary. 
> 
> All Swifters and I can say as we offer this chapter is: when RL hits, it can sure be a humdinger.
> 
> Well, I can also add: we're back and thank you all so much for such loving patience. We both love this story as much as you all do, so we're thrilled to be getting back on track. Without further adieu, on with it then!

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Steve stared blankly as beams of light flashed across the interior of the van from the skylight above them as the vehicle zig-zagged along its pre-ordained route to the INTERPOL safehouse. 

Swaying gently as they moved, he concentrated hard on staying awake. Alert. He was bone-tired, but he focused every shred of remaining energy into _listening_. Analyzing sound, any hint of a threat from outside the moving vehicle.

McCann could strike at any moment. 

His heart was beating fast despite his exhaustion. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that everything was okay, he just couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. One fidgety hand drifted to his hip, fingers brushing over his empty holster. He was relying on his team and the INTERPOL officers up front to fight off any attempts by McCann. No guns in the back with Danny- he’d been clear on that. 

The detective’s experiences with McCann had left him so damaged he thought he still wanted to go back to the bastard, thought that was where the van was taking them. When Danny realized they weren’t taking him back to McCann at all they could have a genuine fight on their hands and no way was Steve risking a replay of the clusterfuck in the hospital room.

His watery gaze drifted across Danny’s lax features. Blessedly, the blond man, still securely strapped to his gurney, was sleeping again. But his periods of alertness were coming more regularly. It would only be a matter of time before he came round properly and the shit hit the fan.

H _e’s_ _safe_ , Steve insisted to the persistent nagging doubts in his head. _That’s all that matters right now. The rest can wait. We’ll get through to him._

Right then, keeping Danny safe and out of McCann’s evil clutches was the _only_ thing on Steve’s to-do list. Danny had suffered enough for one lifetime. There was nothing Steve wouldn’t do to keep that man from laying a finger on his partner again. _Nothing._

The five-0 Commander squeezed his eyes shut for a moment in an effort to clear his blurring vision. His head instantly nodded forwards, bobbing with the movement of the van and he caught himself sharply. He couldn’t sleep. _No way_. 

But between the recent blood-loss, the terminal lack of sleep, the constant stress and the monotone drone of the engine he was fighting an uphill battle. Without warning, space and time spun again. For an instant Steve found himself in the back of a different vehicle in a different place; an armored personnel transporter heading from one no man’s land to another through a war zone from hell. Body bags beside him, the mangled vestiges of comrades within, the stench of death, the…. 

The rearing spectre of that nightmare memory shook him rudely from his fugue state and he finally escaped the curtain of horror-filled sleep that fought to take him. Desperately needing an anchor to the waking world, he automatically sought out Danny.

 _Alive. Safe_. _Keep him that way. Keep it together._

Tightening his grip on Danny’s warm hand, Steve hazarded a glance at LaRouche, seated beside him in the back of the van. Evidently the agent hadn’t noticed his near descent into nightmare-riddled slumber. She was completely distracted, nervous eyes flicking forwards as though she might be able to see where they were going through the solid body of the van.

Steve shifted his gaze to the INTERPOL nurse. He was checking Danny’s vitals and Steve glanced at him questioningly, further reassured by the confident nod he received in return. He let out a long, slow breath, then sat up straight, trying to rouse himself more.

Logging the on-going motion of the vehicle and tried to match it to the mental map he had of the route they were to follow. A few minutes later and he shook his head in frustration. His tired mind was failing him again. He couldn’t place their location at all. He looked up at the skylight in frustration. The lack of windows might be keeping them safe but he’d kill to see where they were. How long had they been traveling? They had to be close to the safe-house by now. Those nagging doubts began to nag a little louder.

But then, one sharp left turn later the van slowed abruptly. 

A sudden cacophony of noise assaulted Steve’s deadened senses; the metallic clang of gates opening, voices calling urgently in French, a dog barking fiercely… then the van pulled forwards again. Finally. They must have made it to safety, finally!

Steve looked up at the skylight as darkness overtook them, an unseen building swallowing them up like they had been sucked into the maw of some great beast. 

A chill ran down his back. 

The van stopped in the blackness. 

There was blessed silence for a few moments, marked only by the ticking of the silenced engine. Everything had gone to plan! They were at the safehouse. Danny really _was_ safe!

“We’re here,” LaRouche whispered.

Steve turned to stare at her, searching out her gaze in the shadows. Something about her tone was off. It seemed… disbelieving? Uneasy? It wasn’t… what? Something nameless was missing from it anyway, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. 

LaRouche avoided his eyes.

Then time for thought was up. The back doors of the van were yanked open. Unforgiving fluorescent light simultaneously flooded the darkened space around them, rudely assaulting Steve’s vision. He blinked hard, head beating fast, mind frantically trying to identify the figures in black that surrounded the vehicle, weapons on them. 

Steve reached for a weapon that wasn’t there. He gasped in shock as the muzzle of a gun was thrust into the side of his head, glancing to the side to see LaRouche threatening him at point blank range. Then, to his horror, he realized the supposed INTERPOL nurse had a weapon on _Danny’s_ head.

One figure stepped forwards. Broad-shouldered and tall, he was unmistakable and Steve’s stomach dropped to his feet.

“Commander,” hissed McCann, cold eyes glinting with fury. “You stole my property. You killed my lover. It’s time to pay.”  

 

**H5O* H5O***

 

The newly-refurbished Five-0 office was alive with frantic chaos, unanswerable questions being fired around at high volume. 

Lou, on the phone with INTERPOL, had a growl in his voice that would surely terrify the most hardened of criminals.  “We should have been notified about LaRouche!! This should NOT have been allowed to happen! Why was it that not one of you idiots thought we should know she had been suspended?! Do you have any idea how bad this is?!”

Chin, on another line to HPD for updates on the situation downtown, glanced over at him. 

“ _So where the HELL are they_? Jerry?! Give us something here!!!” Lou smacked his palm against the tech table, hard, eyes blazing.

Jerry took a step back, looking away from the screen towards the others, hands finding their way into his hair where they took a death grip on the dark strands of their own accord. “I don’t know,” he stuttered. “I don’t know! I’m _trying_! Whoever hacked into our system was good! I’m trying to retrieve the real footage but… I need _time_!”

“We don’t have time!” Gutches growled instantly, the venom in his tone pushing Jerry another step back from them. 

Chin was by his old friend’s side in an instant, hands raised as back-up to his placatory tone. “This isn’t Jerry’s fault. This isn’t _any_ one person’s fault. McCann has outmaneuvered us, we have to accept that and worry about how it happened later. Right now we just need to keep our heads. CSI are working overtime, we have McCann’s men to autopsy, their cellphones to interrogate, plus our own systems to look at because the hacker _must_ have left a trace. We have Officer Akui to track down. This time we _are_ gonna get something we can use, it’s been too messy a loss for McCann for any other outcome. We just need a little patience. We have to think positive. We’ll find them.”

There was a brief silence, then Kono shattered it with six whispered words.

“No. We have to find the bomb.”

Every gaze in the room turned toward her.

“No. Fuck that. Screw the bomb.” Gutches hissed through gritted teeth, shaking his head hard. “We find McGarrett and Danny. We find them, we find _McCann_. Then _he_ can tell us where the fucking bomb is before I rip his dick off. Problem solved.”

Eyes filled with pain, Kono shook her head “I know what we all want to do, but…” She turned to Jerry, her eyebrows arching high. “Jerry, if McCann has someone good enough to hack into _our_ system….” 

Jerry’s jaw dropped as he instantly caught her drift and finished her thought for her. “Then chances are that same person has the skills to work out the activation code for the bomb.”

Kono nodded tightly, now choking out her words. “McCann’s _smart._ We know that. He’s gonna have an exit strategy in place- he might be gone already, they all might be. And he wasn’t going to activate the bomb until he had Danny back, that’s what we were told, right? _He has Danny._ There’s nothing to stop him now.” 

There was a shocked silence as the facts of the situation caught up with them _fast_.

“We need to find _the bomb_ ,” she said, determination written across her face. “We need to find the _hacker_. We have to stop the device being activated! That _has_ to be our priority. There are a lot more lives at stake here than _theirs_.”  
****

The gathered friends exchanged silent looks, no one willing to voice the obvious. She was right.

_Steve and Danny were on their own._

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _


End file.
